


Autumn Atonement

by YKET



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Developing Relationship, Elves, Explicit Consent, Falling In Love, Foot Fetish, Forgiveness, Happy Ending, Kinks, M/M, Slow Burn, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 06:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 38,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19997626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YKET/pseuds/YKET
Summary: Eltarion has ruled the peaceful valley of Solvein for three thousand years. Surrounded by loving children, supportive friends and respecting subjects, he has no need for passion or love. Those emotions are in the past, and he is still paying for the mistakes of his youth. So when a young prince of a foreign land arrives in his valley, he is not in the least bit interested.But Autumn knows better.





	1. Eltarion

‘Oh, Father, prince Jahlwe is so amazing.’

‘Oh yes, Father, he is so brave. And smart.’

‘… and _so_ handsome.’

‘.. and, Father, even though he is a Nightgrove elf, you’ll love him.’

I swallow a smirk. ‘You two love him enough, it seems.’

Silly sniggers of two identical mouths. Four identical cheeks grow flustered. Both the elflings bite their lips and give all their attention to the white marble floor of our outer courtyard. I shake my head disapprovingly, but fail to suppress an adoring smile, which most probably ruins the effect.

‘Don’t tell me you are serious about him, boys…’

Two pairs of black eyes look up.

‘Would you be upset if we were?’ Ulysser asks, his excitement fading.

‘Would you be disappointed?’ Ariel whispers.

Would I? A father’s disapproval of a mate is a pain I know too well. Although both my father and my lover are long gone, the scar on my heart throbs every time my eyes stumble over the old portrait of my parents I keep in my study. The harsh words it caused my father and I to say, the alienation that followed, the heartbreak… On the day the twins were born, I promised myself I would be the world’s most accepting father, no matter what tests fate throws my way. I pride myself at coping well enough so far. A chilly little memory nudges at the back of my head, but I tuck it away with a habitual effort.

‘If one of you fancies him, I will not oppose. He may even settle here in Solvein, should he choose to. But how are you planning to share your precious forest wildling? Are you both already enamoured?’

Discussing the intimate matter seems hardest on the elder. ‘No, Father, we’re not—’ Ulysser stammers.

Ariel’s face lights up. ‘Well, if you’re not, brother, then I’ll take Jahlwe and it’s settled?’

Angry daggers are shooting from Ulysser’s eyes. ‘It’s not what I meant. I was going to say, _I’m not sure we can decide this without Jahlwe_. Don’t we need to ask him whom he chooses?’

Their bickering is amusing, and I would have laughed, had I not been this worried about my sons’ hearts. ‘I just hope he doesn’t hurt you, my boys.’

They stop quibbling in an instant.

‘Don’t worry, Father, Jahlwe is not like that…’ Ulysser starts.

‘…he is very kind to us,’ Ariel finishes.

I put my hands on their shoulders. ‘He had better be. Otherwise I’ll have his head served to Queen Amedee on a silver plate.’

They laugh and Ariel winks at his brother. ‘Don’t cross our Father!’

Clanking steps are coming from the staircase. The captain of the guard flashes her silvery cloak as she enters the yard and gives a bow. ‘Prince Jahlwe is about to enter the valley, my lord.’

The twins all but jump, excitement bubbling at the bottom of their eyes. I smile to cover my apprehension.

‘Well? What are you two still doing here? Shouldn’t you be welcoming your much-awaited guest?’

As they bolt towards the gates, my smile fades. Here comes my enemy’s offspring to claim the heart of one of my sons. Am I prepared to give it up?

I wish my friends were now by my side to support me, but my advisor and healer, Seoras is busy in the healing wing, while Turûvin, as my commander, is away on a guarding raid, due to return no sooner than morning.

I wrap the fur collar tighter around my shoulders and move towards the main staircase, determined to find out which of my sons is going to reside in Nightgrove.


	2. Jahlwe

Here it is, the monster’s lair. It is beautiful…

Sticking my face up towards the sun, I am riding down the well-trodden path along the cliff, the smell of ripe peaches tickling my nose. My native Nightgrove is myriad shades of green, while Solvein is a flamboyant cacophony of colours. I absorb them with my pours, praying to the Spirits my heretical joy is never discovered by my mother.

My eyes are drawn to the crystal ponds on both sides of the lush valley. They are sprawled below like the wings of a butterfly, each section a different tint – lazuli, crimson, emerald, lavender. The water reflects the jagged line of myslehil trees; their foliage, gilded by the changing season, adds another stroke to the palette. Along the valley, nested between the shimmering ponds, white-roofed houses are arranged in a chess-like order, with a grand mansion settled against the root of the mountain. The road, lined with white stone, guides me towards a wide staircase leading up to the entrance.

‘Jahlwe!’ two voices jingle in unison.

I dismount, smiling at the pair of agile figures skipping down the white steps. Why is it that my heart flutters every time I see these black slanted eyes? Why can’t I resist the temptation to run my fingers along their raven hair and dark sun-kissed skin? Why am I so drawn by their sweet foreign smell? To this I have no answers. Even so, I remember the promise I gave to mother not to choose either of them as a mate. After all, they are _the slimy snake’s spawn_. Not that I fear my mother’s wrath: I’ve already violated her orders by befriending the twins and agreeing to visit their valley. The trouble is, I like the boys equally. And I can’t take both as mates, now can I?

Squeezed between the two sweet-smelling bodies, I hear an official voice above my head.

‘Prince Jahlwe, I am delighted to welcome you to the Solvein Valley.’

This voice is a dollop of ice slithering down my spine. A tall silvery-clad elf is standing at the top of the stairs and I am stunned, petrified to look and unable to avert my gaze. _‘Sorry, mother_ ’ is a weird thought that flashes in my mind, as my heart beats a battle rhythm in my chest.

My knees wobbling, the twins almost carry me up the stairs.

‘Jahlwe, meet our Father. Jahlwe? Jahlwe!’

Why wouldn’t my mouth cooperate? It’s so easy: ‘I thank you, Lord Eltarion, for allowing my entry to the valley. Your kindness knows no limit.’ It’s just… these eyes… so dark, darker than the twins’… next to the nature’s vibrant burst, their blackness is the ultimate monochrome. Their intense gaze burns me even as I stare at my boots, trying to regain control of my body.

You’re a damn warrior, Jahlwe, pull yourself together, for Spirits’ sake.

The moment of shock passes, and I finally speak, still failing to stretch my mouth in any resemblance of a smile. ‘Th-thank you, Lord Elt-tarion, your k-kindness knows no limit.’

Now that the niceties are over, all I want is to go to my chamber and strangle myself to death.


	3. Eltarion

‘You don’t have to watch his every step, my friend.’

I startle at the voice. Too engrossed in the scene of the sparring elflings, I didn’t notice Turûvin’s approach.

‘I’m not,’ I say, and he chuckles. He moves closer to stand by my side on the platform that raises slightly over the training grounds and pulls the fur-lined cloak tighter around his form. His commander’s cloak is pure white, while the collar is a rich brown, blending with his hair and eyes, which are just as chocolate.

‘Your eyes follow prince Jahlwe like that of a hawk,’ he says. ‘But from what I’ve witnessed, he is kind and respectful towards the twins.’ He shakes his head at my silence. ‘But I understand, they are your sons and you’re being protective.’

I focus on the three elflings who are dancing around each other, practice blades in hands. My sons make me proud. Bending their bodies obliquely in a series of side lunges, they attack prince from different sides and angles; I can’t even tell them apart, so fast they move.

And yet Jahlwe is faster.

The twins were right. However much I hate to admit it, young prince is… not unattractive. Tall and lithe, the sunny tousle of his hair arranged in a wild Nightgrove fashion and dancing along his shoulder blades; the blueberry eyes, darkest around the edge of the iris and lightest near the pupil; the smile, kind and open, so unlike his mother’s icy grin. He does seem amiable, and the twins take pleasure in his company.

As I watch the elflings enjoy the fight, a familiar dull ache tugs at my heart. A slither of cold creeps in, coiling in my gut, at their freedom, unburdened by past sins, lost loves or the crippling sense of duty.

I take a deep breath and rub my frozen fingers against each other. What an old fool I am.

‘How is his technique?’ I ask.

Turûvin gives out a long sigh before answering. ‘Better than my best warriors, I’m afraid.’

‘No one in Solvein can hold against him?’

‘Only the twins. And only because there are two of them.’

This is troubling news. Folding my arms on my chest, I follow the graceful, liquid movements of the fair body, the way Jahlwe leaps up in a long, flight-like jump, lands softly, twirls around and slides the blade forward. Ulysser (or Ariel?) barely has time to block the blow, staggering back and losing his advantage; had it not been for his brother, distracting Jahlwe from the right, he would have been smitten.

‘Do you think _I_ could take him?’ I muse.

I feel Turûvin’s surprised glance. He chews on his lip.

‘How long has it been since your last sparring practice?’

I smirk at this diplomatic ‘no’. 

‘Long enough to feel ashamed,’ I admit.

As the fight unfolds, the twins start making mistakes; they run out of breath, while prince never even stops smiling. At some point, I develop a suspicion he is sparing them.

I face Turûvin in alarm. ‘But you can down him, can’t you?’

His laughter is reassuring. ‘Oh yes. Worry not, Eltarion, if need be, I’ll avenge my nephews.’

He pats my shoulder, and with a smug smile I look back at the fighters, and this is when young prince happens to glance in our direction. His eyes widen as they meet mine, he stalls and stumbles, and immediately, my sons launch on him, all three of them toppling to the ground. Ariel mounts the boy’s chest, Ulysser bestrides the legs, and both give a victorious whoop.

‘Father, look, we won!’

‘Father, the unbeatable prince Jahlwe is beaten!’

I try my best to conceal my amusement. ‘Gloating is beneath proper warriors, boys. Get off him.’

Bursting with pride, they rise and help prince to his feet. He drops his eyes and studies his boots while they brush the dust off his clothes.

‘Father, did you see Jahlwe’s technique?’

‘Father, isn’t he amazing?’

They stand by his sides, their hands on his shoulders. Even from here I can see his ears burning red.

‘You must be bored, prince, with only two worthy sparring partners in the valley,’ I say.

He tucks a wayward strand behind his ear, but keeps silent, his chest rising in uneven breaths. Oh, this is beyond amusing.

Ariel’s eyes sparkle. ‘Uncle,’ he beams at Turûvin, ‘you should fight with Jahlwe.’

‘Right, Uncle,’ Ulysser chimes in. ‘You know ancient tactics, Jahlwe will have a hard time fighting you.’

Turûvin gives a crooked smile. ‘If you’re looking for an expert in ancient tactics, why don’t you ask your father?’

Black puppy eyes look up at me in utter delirium. My glare at Turûvin promises a slow and painful death, but he only smiles, knowing full well the damage is done. Once an idea is planted into the twins’ heads, it will grow into a wild cactus plant and prickle their minds until they bring it to life.

‘Perhaps,’ I say carefully. ‘But not today.’

They yelp. ‘Jahlwe, wouldn’t you like to spar with Father?’ Ariel gives prince’s shoulder a gentle shake.

The boy swallows and finally lifts his head, his glance never raising above my nose. His mumbling is barely audible.

‘I… I th-thank you, my lord, your k-kindness knows no limit.’

I tilt my head at him in a most condescending nod.

‘If he keeps getting this terrified of you,’ Turûvin whispers, ‘I don’t think you’ll have troubles winning.’

‘Looks like if I glare hard enough, he’ll faint.’

Is he afraid of me? He’s relaxed and confident with other Solveinians, he even dares mock Turûvin, but in my presence behaves like a trembling toddler, avoiding my eyes and jumping at the merest touch. Did his mother use me as a monster-figure in her scary bed-time stories? Not that I’d be surprised if it turned out true. In any case, I am about to call him for a grave conversation and the fact that he’s intimidated is probably for the best.


	4. Jahlwe

It will happen again, I know it. The moment he looks at me, I’ll turn strawberry red. It’s been happening since we met and no matter how much I try to control my body heat, the more I fight it, the deeper shade of crimson I grow. Especially now that he has called me to his study and we are to be alone.

I open the door. Oh yes, here it comes. The heartbeat, the wobbly knees… the blush.

Every time he looks at me, I do something embarrassing. During these two weeks, five cups of tea ended up in my lap; once I choked on a shrimp so hard, the twins had to call master Seoras; the few times we exchanged words, I failed to say anything remotely appropriate. Once he asked me how I fared, and I blurted out, ‘Peach’… He must think I’m a complete loon. I would.

I take a deep breath.

He looks up, his smile warm and reassuring. Reassuring like the death pit. It makes me dizzy as I shuffle at the door.

‘Welcome, prince. If you would seat yourself while I finish with the papers?’ He points to a pair of armchairs by the blazing fireplace. So there’s not going to be a desk to separate us?

I sit and calm myself by gawking around. His study displays the milestones of his long adventurous life: paintings and statuettes, books and scrolls, artifacts and weapons, all crammed into shelves, piling on top of tables, bursting out of cabinets; so much of everything, there is barely free space at all. One portrait catches my eye. As I study the two black-haired elves – a male and a female, both immaculate to the throat in lacy white, the male unsmiling and his eyes astare, his arm around the female with fingers outspread possessively upon her shoulder – I shiver under the look of bitter judgement his black eyes are radiating. There is a lot of resemblance between Eltarion and him – the hair, the eyes, the lips – everything except this impossibly sour expression.

‘Tea?’

I jump at the deep velvety voice right above my ear.

‘Yes, p-p-please, m-my lord.’

I cringe. My battle with the stutter was won long before my majority, why should it resurface? 

He pours the tea and lowers into the armchair. I can’t tear my eyes away. From my mother’s scarce – and always derogatory – mentions of the Lord of Solvein I presumed he is a beastly, blood-lusty demon, swivel-eyed and covered in boils. Well, he is not. A dark spirit, strong and mysterious; the black waterfall of his hair, constrained only by a delicate silver circlet, the suntanned skin, dark against the shimmery manatee gray of his robes, the inky eyes, rimmed by the longest lashes – to me his image is irresistible.

A light smile plays on his lips and I swallow hard, clutching at the teacup.

‘Are you enjoying your stay in the valley?’ he asks nicely; I only manage a nod in response. ‘I am surprised your mother approved of your visit here.’

I clear my throat. ‘She didn’t.’

He takes a sip of his tea. ‘I hope my children keep you entertained?’

I can’t put the darned cup back on the table – the clanking will give out my trembling, so I keep drinking, nodding over the rim of the empty cup.

‘Do you take pleasure in sparring with them?’

Another nod.

‘Your picnics in the garden? Swimming in the coloured lakes? Chess?’

My head bobs like a cheap doll at the market.

‘Then,’ he asks, ‘which twin’s company do you prefer – Ulysser’s or Ariel’s?’

With a tilt of the head, he stares. When the true meaning of his words gets through, I choke and plunk the cup down.

‘I d-don’t… You d-don’t… We-we—’ Oh, would you stop with the mumbling!

My stammering and petrified expression evoke his pity. His smile turns sympathetic and he covers my hand with his in a gesture that is probably meant to be fatherly and calming. The warmth of his skin burns me, but I don’t dare move.

‘Prin— Jahlwe,’ he says. ‘There is nothing more important to me than my children’s happiness. Should one of them choose you as their mate – and should you treat them the way they deserve – I will be most supportive. Perhaps I’m less blinded by old spite than your mother, but I have to admit you are a good choice: you are kind and caring and honest. I believe you could be a great partner—’

‘You do?’

‘—for one of my sons.’

His hand is still holding mine and I’m covered with sweat.

‘The only thing, prince, is to look inside your heart for the answer.’

The words calm me. _Look into my heart for the answer._ So be it.

‘I don’t have to look for long, my lord.’

My hands stop trembling; our gazes lock and I see surprise in his face.

‘So what will it be?’

I take a few breaths. As if before diving into water.

‘I k-care about your sons, deeply, Lord Eltarion, but I can’t g-give my heart to either of them, as it’s… already t-taken.’

He narrows his eyes, his expression growing dark. ‘You have someone in Nightgrove?’ His hand, covering mine, squeezes harder. ‘Then why have you come to the valley? To mess with my children’s hearts? Give them false hope? Play with their feelings?’

‘I would never do such a th-thing! I hold them both d-dearly. There is nobody for me in Nightgrove.’

‘Then when did you—?’

‘The moment I walked past your g-gates.’

He leans forward, and our faces are an inch from each other; the dizzying smell, the same as the twins’, only stronger, clouds my thinking.

‘Nonsense,’ he says. ‘Except for my children, I was the only one welcoming you into the valley.’

I swallow hard before answering. ‘Indeed.’

There is a pause during which none of us speaks. And then his face loses all emotion. It’s a mask he carries as he sits back into his armchair and lets go of my hand. I lose the staring challenge and avert my eyes.

‘Is this a joke?’ he asks.

I slowly shake my head. What was I thinking? That my confession would get me something? His attention? His affection? I’m such a naïve fool.

‘It’s not, my lord.’

‘Did your mother teach you to say this?’

‘No!’

He examines me. Long.

‘What are you trying to achieve by this?’

‘Nothing. You asked, and I answered. Th-that’s all.’

Another tormenting pause.

He finally chuckles, ‘Ridiculous.’

‘That I’m in love with you?’

He looks at me with pity. ‘Yes, prince. This is ridiculous.’

‘Because I’m a Nightgrove elf?’

‘Because you’re a child.’

‘So I don’t deserve a ch-chance?’

‘A chance?’ He runs a hand over his brow. ‘I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you.’

He doesn’t sound angry, so I tread carefully.

‘My lord, I know I’m a mere elfling to you, but like everyone else, I cannot k-command my heart whom I’m prohibited to love. The moment I saw you st-standing on those st-stairs, I knew I found the other half of me, and there would be no one else I could g-give my heart to.’

He straightens, never meeting my gaze, and when he speaks, he sounds calm and official.

‘You are my children’s guest, so I’m not in the power to banish you, prince. You can stay in Solvein as long as you like. However, I insist that you tell the twins you don’t return their feelings, immediately. I also strongly advise you against bringing up this discussion again. Do you hear me?’

His voice is ice-cold. So are his eyes, when he raises them.

‘I hear you, Lord Eltarion.’ I get up. ‘I th-thank you for the tea. Your k-kindness knows no limit.’


	5. Eltarion

Seeing Ulysser fighting back tears, I drop the scrolls I’ve been carrying and rush to his side, grabbing his shoulders.

‘What is amiss, my boy?’

He struggles to free himself from my grasp, and then stills, but avoids eye contact. ‘It’s nothing. Nothing,’ he mumbles. ‘Nothing.’ Too many nothings for me to believe it.

‘Are you hurt?’ Seoras asks, pressing his fingers to the boy’s wrist.

Ulysser pulls his hand away and tries to flee, but I hold him firmly.

‘What is it, my boy? Tell me.’

He looks at me. ‘Jahlwe—’

‘I knew it! That good-for-nothing boy.’

‘It’s not his fault,’ Ulysser cringes. He battles with himself for a bit, then finally speaks. ‘He’s in love with Ariel, not me.’

I tense. ‘Is he? Are you certain?’

‘He told me himself.’

The door flings open and Ariel bursts in, his face drawn in anger.

‘Well, are you happy? You, traitor!’

Ulysser glares at his brother. ‘How dare you call me this!’

‘Isn’t this who you are? After all, you jinxed Jahlwe into choosing you.’

‘I what?’

I hurry to intervene before my children throw themselves at each other.

‘There seems to be a misunderstanding.’ I move to stand between them. ‘What did prince tell you?’

They stand silently, drilling each other, and say in unison, ‘He said he loved _him_ ,’ pointing at each other.

‘Nonsense!’

Seoras looks just as perplexed. ‘Give us his exact words.’

The twins frown, searching for the answer.

‘He said that he cares about me deeply, but only as his brother,’ Ulysser says. ‘That he couldn’t return my feelings because his heart belonged to someone else. He didn’t say the name, but I assumed…’

‘Now that I think about it, he never mentioned your name either,’ Ariel says. ‘There is someone else?’

‘Who?’

I put my hands on their shoulders. ‘Some Nightgrove elf, most probably. Forget about this worthless boy, he doesn’t deserve you.’ I give each of them a hard look. ‘Now that you know he won’t take either of you as a mate, you’ll make him leave the valley, won’t you?’ I pray peace and quiet will finally come back into my life.

‘Why, Father?’ Ulysser asks. ‘Jahlwe is our friend and we are enjoying his company…’

‘…and now that we don’t have to compete for his attention,’ Ariel continues, ‘it will probably be even better.’ The twins smile at each other brilliantly.

‘Young love,’ Seoras says. ‘How passing it is.’

Indeed. Prince’s foolish attraction, if it truly exists, is just as short-lived, I’m sure. Somehow it makes me sad. Oh, I’m laughable. Or perhaps just a little lonely. It’ll pass. Should I talk to Seoras about this? My advisor and healer, he always helps me find inner peace.

‘Then off you go, my boys.’

I smile, watching the twins go. But Ariel’s last remark makes me tense. ‘We _must_ find out who Jahlwe is in love with.’

Oh, I pray to the Spirits they don’t.

Seoras picks up at my distress.

‘This is troubling you,’ he says, going about collecting the scattered scrolls. ‘Do you disapprove of the boy? He seems...’ he pauses, looking for a word, ‘decent. And, unlike his mother, kind.’

I join him, careful not to damage the ancient paper. ‘Turûvin says the same thing.’

‘And yet?’

‘And yet every time I see him near the twins, I’m overcome with worry. What if he hurts them?’

‘Then all of the poisons in my laboratory are at your disposal.’

I look up and see he is only half joking. I manage a smile. ‘My sons are fortunate to have you two protecting them.’

Seoras is busy picking up the strewn pages of Eyolan’s ‘Dwarven Merchantry Handbook’. ‘Now that the bond with either of the twins is unlikely, should you fret this much? Let him be the burden of the one he is so wildly in love with.’

‘Wildly in love with?’ I ask. Seoras isn’t the one to use such passionate words in vain.

He hitches a shoulder. ‘Ephinwe showed me the romantic doodles the boy had left behind in the library. They were… decent.’ He looks up. ‘Why?’

For a moment, I deliberate on telling him the truth.

‘Never mind,’ I mumble in the end. At a more opportune moment, perhaps.

Coming closer, he says, ‘Let your mind be at peace, Eltarion. And every time you’re overcome with worry, imagine the face of Queen Ameedee when she finds out whom her son has befriended.’ With a small but clearly evil smile he hands me the rest of the scrolls and makes his way towards my study.

‘I thank the Spirits you are on my side, Seoras,’ I say, walking swiftly behind him. 


	6. Jahlwe

The twins are leading me along the dark alleys of the main gardens, where the myslehil trees are swaying in the evening breeze, clothed in gold and crimson foliage, their honeyed aroma sweet on my breath. As we are passing a small cluster of crooked trees, their branches intertwined and sprinkled with countless white and yellow florets, I realize there is an alcove hidden in their shade, a carpeted platform with the dark outlines of a couch and a small table. What a restful place this must be, to read and reflect.

I stall in front of the gazebo, and the twins stand by my side.

‘You’ve found Father’s hiding spot,’ Ulysser says. ‘He comes here to read and drink his evening tea.’

My heartbeat quickens at these words. Imagining him lying on this sofa, a book in hand, flower tendrils caressing his hair, sends goose bumps all over my skin.

‘Of all the plants in these gardens, frangipani was the hardest to cultivate in the Solvein climate.’ Ariel picks up one of the fallen flowers and brings it up to my nose. Its wide pearly petals swirl into an amber centre and as I take a whiff, I feel it – the dizzying smell of Eltarion and the twins. ‘Father spent ages acclimatizing it,’ Ariel adds with a proud smile.

I nod, no longer surprised. When they first told me that years ago this valley had been a barren wasteland, I hardly believed. The coloured lakes, the forests, the hills and the gardens – all was his doing, his vision, his effort. I no longer take the beauty of Solvein for granted. I dive my nose into the flower centre. Frangipani, was it?

Ulysser peers into the darkness of the alcove. ‘Seems like Father forgot his mantle.’

Indeed, as I look closer, I see a soft swirl of shadowy fur on the sofa. One of the twins pulls at my sleeve.

‘Let’s go,’ Ariel urges, tucking the fragrant flower behind my ear. ‘We promised to show you that secret spot in the gardens…’

‘…we might even catch a glimpse of someone kissing!’

With wild giggles they hop away, confident that I’m following suit.

I will. In a moment.

In my defense, I hesitate before entering. Is this what I’m about to become? A hopeless loon, who stalks another elf’s hiding spots, snoops around for personal things, searching to get a trace, a tinge, a whiff of his beloved? Pitiful indeed.

A sudden breeze stirs the foliage over the roof and the flower heads nod in invitation, luring me inside with their aroma. I yield.

Walking into the gazebo feels like sneaking into his private room. His presence is still here, in the quiet rustle of the pages of an open book, the mint leaves at the bottom of the cup, the gentle coil of the mantle. I plunge my fingers into the warmth of the fur and lift it to my face, diving in to take a breathful of the flowery smell. It fills my lungs with desperation and longing.

‘So it _is_ Father,’ I hear, as my nose is rubbing against the fur.

‘We couldn’t believe it was the truth,’ the second voice, completely similar in timbre and bewilderment, adds.

The twins are too smart for their own good.

I fold the cloak into a neat square and place it on the sofa before facing my trappers.

‘How did you guess?’ I ask, just to postpone their inevitable questions.

They exchange amused glances and chatter in their usual manner, taking the thread of narration from each other naturally, as if it were one elf talking, not two.

‘You weren’t willing to share the object of your passion, so we assumed it was someone from the valley...’

‘…we watched closely, but you didn’t treat anyone differently…’

‘… anyone except Father. So we thought, what if, contrary to everyone’s belief, it was not because you were terrified of him, but in fact…‘

‘…because he was the one you loved?’

My head shoots up at their words. ‘Everyone thinks I’m terrified of him?’

They avert their eyes, but their half-hidden smiles are revealing enough. I shouldn’t be surprised. The stuttering, the sweating, the wretched blush… This is beyond embarrassing.

‘When did this happen?’ Ariel asks, his voice full of pity.

There is no point in holding back now.

‘The moment I saw him on those stairs.’ I plop onto the sofa, keenly aware of how ridiculous these words sound, and yet they are the truth. How can one fall in love at a mere glance?

The twins sit each at my side, their hands on my shoulders.

Ulysser doesn’t mock me when he asks, ‘Are you certain Father is what your heart wants, not just,’ he pauses, ‘the body?’

I pull the mantle from under Ariel’s buttocks and smooth it down on my lap. ‘It’s not just the body,’ I say. ‘I’ve been attracted to elves in my life and it is nothing like this. Every time I look at him…’ I search for a way to put it into words. ‘I feel like my soul is torn in two…’

We sit in silence, until Ariel leans down to meet my eyes, his lips curved in encouragement.

‘A true affection like this is meant to be a blessing, not torture. Why don’t you speak to Father, tell him how you feel?’

‘I already have.’

Two pairs of black eyes widen at me.

‘You did?’ and ‘What did he say?’ the twins exclaim in chorus.

‘That I’m a child and my infatuation is ridiculous.’

Ariel regards me with a raised eyebrow. ‘And you tumbled for the trick?’

‘How do you mean?’ I ask. ‘Your father is so much older than me, he is sage and experienced and—‘

‘— lonely! He’s been alone for too long.’

‘But… isn’t he and master Seoras…?’

The twins burst into laughter.

‘No,’ Ulysser says, still smiling. ‘Turûvin and Seoras are Father’s friends, almost brothers, that is why we call both uncles. Father grew up together with Turûvin, and befriended Seoras while building Solvein.’

I rub the back of my neck.

‘Seoras regards me with such discontent…’

‘This is how he treats everyone,’ Ariel says. ‘Especially those that he fears might disturb Father’s peace of mind. Uncle Seoras looks unapproachable, but it is merely a façade. Inside he is soft and squishy… and funny, too. He helped us set up some of our most brilliant pranks.’

‘If it’s not Seoras, has your father been alone since your mother died?’ I ask.

‘Much earlier,’ Ulysser says, shaking his head. ‘Father respected Mother, but they were never true mates.’

‘Then who?’

The twins share a worried look and lean in, whispering in a conspiratorial manner. ‘Gulurgon.’

I gape at them. ‘But wasn’t it…?’ I can’t even bring myself to finish the sentence.

‘Three millennia ago,’ they nod.

By the Spirits. Alone for three thousand years?

My education, however thorough, excluded any mention of the Lord of Solvein and his beloved, but what I gathered from songs and rumours is not comforting.

‘Gulurgon was a legendary warrior, a mind-reading sorcerer. And I? Next to him I’m just an unseemly Nightgrove emptyhead.’

Ulysser chuckles. ‘I remember Father say you’re handsome…’

‘…and skilled, and kind,’ his brother chimes in. ‘And we’ve noticed Father’s eyes on you more often than etiquette requires.’

I fumble with the beaded furry tassels at the edge of the mantle.

‘What do you think I should do?’

They contemplate in silence. At last Ariel yanks the cloak away and places it on the table.

‘We think this is a worthy endevour. Father deserves to be happy. But with one as stubborn and short-tempered as he is...’

‘…you should be prepared for a battle, for he will do his best to push you away. His heart has grown rusty in so long a time. Would you do it still?’

I give a resolute nod. Never have I walked away from a fight.

Under the encouraging rustle of the frangipani trees, we leave the gazebo, and as I step outside, I collide with Lord Eltarion himself. Stuttering my apologies, I jump away, while he stands, his lips quirked, peering at something just above my temple.

‘We found your mantle, Father,’ Ariel says, holding out the fur cloak.

Eltarion wraps it around his shoulders and leaves, giving me one last lingering look. I probe at my temple, there is something soft and paper-thin stuck behind my ear – I yank – the frangipani flower.

Over the next week, I realize the twins were right. Whenever I’m bold enough to lift my eyes, I meet his. The first time it happened, he stared at me for a heartbeat, testing my courage, his searching glance setting my soul ablaze. But there was no anger in his eyes, no contempt, just curiosity, and I assumed it bode well.

That’s why now, walking up to greet him in the common room, I am determined to converse. The twins’ gait by my side is light and rhythmic, and I’m encouraged by their silent support. But what shall I say? Mention the weather? Too trivial. Inquire about his health? Too private. Compliment the evening’s entertainment? Too desperate. Ugh, mindless chatter has never been my strong suit.

Confused, I watch the twins give their father a hug. As his eyes move towards me, the cordial smile from greeting his sons still lingering to share its warmth, I hopelessly open my mouth, when something catches my attention. On his chest, right above his heart is a pin – a golden lizard, its tiny digits spread out, coiled around a massive blue gem.

‘Prince?’ I hear.

His eyes, as black as the lizard’s, regard me expectantly.

‘Beautiful,’ I whisper and, hearing the twins’ giggling, shake my head. ‘I meant to say… your p-pin. It’s b-beautiful.’

The giggling fades. As does Eltarion’s smile, while his hand jerks up, as if to shield the gem from me.

‘It is a brooch,’ is his dry correction. ‘Enjoy the evening, prince,’ he adds before turning his attention to Turûvin, who gives me a cringing smile, as if mentioning the brooch was even worse than my previous bouts of blushing and stuttering.

‘Why did that upset him?’ I ask, when the twins drag me out of earshot.

‘Oh, Jahlwe! Who was the greatest jeweler of old?’ Ariel exclaims.

I know not, but their tone is self-explanatory. ‘Gulurgon, I presume?’

‘Of course,’ Ulysser chides. ‘This brooch was his last present.’

I smack myself on the forehead. Why did I have to be distracted by a worthless brooch? But deep inside I know the answer. The brooch wasn’t worthless.

‘I know nothing of jewels,’ I admit. ‘My mother calls them toys for,’ I clear my throat, ‘for spoiled Solvein elves. But that brooch was beautiful, even I saw that.’

We all sigh.

‘Let’s go.’ Ulysser takes my elbow. ‘The dinner is about to start.’

‘There will be another chance,’ Ariel assures me, and I nod.

I did say I was prepared to fight. But this battle was won by Gulurgon.


	7. Eltarion

‘Father, sing!’

Ai… The evening was just becoming pleasant, with the sweet music, the pleasant conversation, the freshness of the air. Why would the twins ruin it all on a whim?

‘Please, Father, please!’

And the next moment all the Solveinians in the common hall chime in, ‘We are begging you, lord Eltarion, sing.’

Turûvin tilts his head at me. ‘The one about starlight?’

I sweep a look around the room. Everyone is staring. Prince is staring, his eyes excited and honest.

I force a smile at the twins.

‘Just the one song,’ I warn them.

And I sing.

Whenever I sing the joyful melody of _Starlight of our Youth_ , it spills from my very heart, but today I am too ill-at-ease to lose myself in the magic of this sweet hymn of our springtide, the age when the three of us were young and hopeful and full of love. This is not my best singing, lacking a tad in passion and precision, but everyone seems delighted, so after the final notes I lean back, only to be startled again by the commotion in the corner to my left.

What mischief are the twins up to this time?

The amused ‘Jahlwe, what is it?’ and ‘Jahlwe, are you crying?’ sound in my sons’ agitated voices. Jahlwe lifts his hand to his face, as if in surprise: his cheeks are indeed glistening with tears. The guests peer at him, whispers and giggles rippling in waves across the hall. Our eyes meet, and I make sure my discontent is clear.

After the excitement abates and Moriel is asked to sing the ballad of _The Taming of the Monster_ for what seems like a thousandth time, I make my inconspicuous way to the balcony, leaving the bright lights and the loud music for the hushed shadows and the valley’s nightly whispers.

‘Some wine, m-my lord?’

I close my eyes briefly to push back my annoyance. How dare he follow me?

‘Thank you, prince.’ I take the goblet from his hands and we stand side by side, silence tense and awkward wrapping us in a stifling bubble.

He takes a gulp of his wine and clears his throat.

‘It’s k-curious how the st-stars here are different from how we see them in Nightgrove,’ he starts, and I restrain from rolling my eyes. Talking about the stars, does he take me for an impressionable elfling? By the Spirits I preferred it when he was silently blushing in my presence. ‘Umm… for instance, the Giant Sp-spider is a little f-farther to the north—‘

‘Don’t you think your reaction to my singing was excessive?’ I snap. ‘You attracted everybody’s attention.’

He pauses, his fingers rubbing the flowery carving of the banister.

‘I am s-sorry for that, my lord. B-believe me, had I been able to avoid k-crying in front of the whole Solvein valley, I would have d-done it.’

‘Oh, stop this. My singing was not _that_ good.’

‘I am a p-poor judge of the songs of old, and that one I’d never heard before, but one thing I d-do know. No one’s voice had touched me so deep and made me f-feel so intense.’

I tighten my hand around the goblet. I’ve watched the boy enough to know he is not lying. Nor saying things to simply flirt. And I can’t but admit this is the sweetest darn thing anyone’s said to me in a long while. By the Spirits.

‘Alright, prince, shouldn’t you go back to the common hall?’

‘Can’t I st-stand here a little longer?’

I take a breath to send him away, when he adds, ‘I p-promise not to b-bother you with t-talk.’

And here I give up. Today’s battle is lost. I’m too tired to fight.

‘Of course, you can, prince.’

He looks up sheepishly.

‘I th-thank you, my lord…’

‘…my kindness knows no limits?’ I finish for him with a chuckle. He chuckles too.

His childish smile is very nice.

* * *

‘What is happening here?’

I frown at the sight of my children lunging at Jahlwe with feral growls that are fit for a drunken brawl, not a training fight.

‘I promised my dragon blades to the twins if they win,’ Turûvin explains.

I step on the platform and Seoras joins me.

‘Have you this little faith in them?’ he asks. ‘Everybody knows how precious those blades are for you.’ A rare visitor to the training grounds, Seoras endures fighting displays without interest. When it comes to the twins, however, even my stern advisor mellows and pays attention. ‘Do they stand a chance?’ he asks after the twins fail to break the boy’s defense yet again.

Jahlwe’s movements are exact and effortless. Relaxed and smiling, he tricks Ulysser with a false lunge, and thrusts sideways, knocking the sword from my son’s left hand. Ariel rushes to his brother’s aid, but Jahlwe flips back to land softly behind him. A gentle push at the back of Ariel’s knee sends him staggering forward and he crashes into his brother, both tumbling to the ground, a flailing mess of arms and legs.

Seoras nudges Turûvin with an elbow. ‘Seems like your blades are safe, my friend.’

With a chuckle, Turûvin runs a hand through his chocolate mane.

The three panting elflings look up, finally noticing their expanded audience.

‘Father,’ Ariel cries out, his brows pinching. ‘He won again.’

‘I feel for you, my boy,’ I say, unable to keep laughter from my voice, ‘but what can I do?’

‘You promised to spar with him!’ Ulysser purses his lips, getting to his feet and helping his brother up. ‘You have to avenge us.’

My smile tenses. I knew they wouldn’t drop the idea.

‘Prince has just been sparring with you, my boys. Wouldn’t engaging in two fights in a row put him at a disadvantage?’

Jahlwe tilts his head in a bow. ‘I’m honoured by your k-concern for me, Lord Eltarion, but worry not, even in my second f-fight, I’ll beat you.’

The boy’s smile, small but defiant, affects everyone: the twins gasp, Seoras frowns, Turûvin gives out a wild laugh. And I? This smile sets off a little spark rushing though my veins. Our eyes meet and this time he holds my gaze evenly.

This is a challenge then?

‘Overconfidence is a vice for a warrior, prince, so I’m afraid it is my duty to give you a lesson,’ I say, removing the coronet. He watches me undress, as I unbutton my robes, and pull them over my head. ‘It’s good master Seoras is with us,’ I add, giving the boy a dark look, ‘once we are done, you might be in need of a healer.’

With triumphant whoops, the twins hop up the platform to stand by Turûvin’s side.

‘Are you sure this is wise, Eltarion?’ Seoras whispers as I lean in to pass my belongings into his safekeeping. There is genuine concern in his eyes – a learned elf and a healer, he has never been one to approve of violence.

‘Have no fear, my friend.’ I give him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. ‘I am only intending to knock some arrogance out of the boy.’

Dressed now in leggings and a shirt, I roll my sleeves, and, after Ariel passes me his swords, step down to the ground level.

As we circle the arena, I mentally thank Turûvin for the sparring practices we’ve been having since the idea of our match with prince was planted into the twins’ heads. My first fight was a disgrace, but since then my old reflexes have been reinstated, my skills sharpened, my blisters renewed.

Already familiar with prince’s style, I make a few probing thrusts, testing him, and he plays along, reacting the way I expect. Whenever he makes his moves at me, I sidestep without effort, the long-forgotten rush of adrenaline honing my body. He seems to be savouring our dance just as much, his eyes burning with excitement.

With a wide grin he charges, but I dodge to the side, thrusting my sword. He swivels away, leaping behind me in a wide fluid motion. I’m just as fast, already turning, and our swords meet in mid-air. We explode in a series of blows, each coming from a different direction, as we are trying to find an open spot, a floppy block. In vain. None of my tricks work, but neither do his. We are a perfect match, and although the thought should prickle my pride, it doesn’t. I am enjoying myself too much. But as my eyes flash momentarily to the left, I notice Seoras’ frown. It reminds me that we were in fact in the middle of the harvest inspection, and that this little distraction, however welcome, needs to be curbed.

After a few misleading moves, I slide behind prince, and, casting one sword aside, run my hand gently down his back. His breath catches, and he freezes in his tracks, giving me enough time to step forward and press my second blade to his jugular.

His innocent impossibly blue eyes are full of hurt when he whispers, ‘Not fair…’ His hands drop, swords hanging uselessly by his sides.

‘I told you, prince, overconfidence is a vice for a warrior.’

A week later he challenges me to a rematch and for some reason I agree. We fight with no witnesses and this time I win fair and square. As he is lying on the ground, panting, he asks me to teach him the old version of the empty fade move I used to disarm him, and again, I inexplicably agree. And then we both head for the healing wing, to have Seoras tend to my sprained wrist and the boy’s bruised forearm.

Seoras handles Jahlwe’s injury with a grim expression, which instantly dwindles my good mood. When we are out of prince’s earshot, I put my healthy arm on Seoras’s shoulder.

‘I know you are worried about me,’ I whisper, ‘but I promise I’m being cautious. It’s all in good fun.’

‘I am glad you are enjoying yourself, my lord.’

Ai… Seoras only addresses me officially when I’ve done wrong.

‘What is amiss?’

He takes his time rubbing ibbilica balm into my sore wrist. ‘It’s not my place to intervene in your personal affairs, Eltarion.’

‘As my friend and advisor, intervening in affairs like this is your duty. Tell me.’

He proceeds to bandaging my wrist. ‘If you truly want to know, then hear this. Solvenians have started to talk.’

‘About?’

‘About their lord favouring the Nightgrove prince. And about a prince who came to propose to one of the sons but ended up giving the father lewd looks. Solvenians gossip whether they should all wear their hair in a mess, cry during your songs and challenge you to half-naked sword-waving games to get your attention.’

His words are a bucketful of cold water on my silly rekindled heart. I’ve always known this was a mistake, and yet I let the blue eyes and the kissable mouth lead me astray. How ridiculous I must look in everyone’s eyes! Old fool of a lord.

By the time Seoras is done with my injury, my mind is made up. I need to stop letting my emotions lead me by the nose and focus on being a lord. I’ve spent millennia doing exactly this.

As I make my way out of the room, the boy is waiting by the door. He straightens, all smile and shiny eyes, but I keep walking without a glance in his direction. In a moment he joins me, pacing himself to my stride. We walk in silence, but his eyes dart towards me, trying to fathom the change in my mood.

‘Thank you for p-practicing with me t-today, my lord,’ he ventures after all. I am determined to ignore him, but he perseveres. ‘You’re a g-great martial teacher. I’d love to sp-spar with you again.’

‘I am afraid you will have to go back to training with the twins,’ I say, managing to add ice into my voice, which is a feat on my part, with so much anger and frustration burning my cheeks.

‘That would be a sh-shame,’ he smiles. ‘You know they are no match for me.’

I stop in my tracks.

‘How dare you say this about my children,’ I explode, and he flinches. ‘If you find them unworthy, why should you waste your time in our valley at all? Go find more satisfying partners in Nightgrove.’

He blinks, his mouth working silently before he stutters, ‘I m-meant no offense, my lord. I just wanted to s-say how much I loved—‘

I turn and walk down the gallery. He catches up, but we are already out of the healing wing, in the southern part of the gardens, where Solvenians are getting ready for the Amity festival: setting up large pavilions, decorating the trees with star-shaped lanterns, arranging tables and seats. In the middle, on an illuminated platform, there are tall vases filled with amaryllises, the love flowers. Anyone willing to profess to their loved ones during the celebration tomorrow need only present the flower to make their feelings known.

Before anyone sees us walking together, I put up a hand in a stalling gesture.

‘From this point on, we go our separate ways, prince.’

He nods, confusion drawing his face, but as I am about to leave, takes a half step forward.

‘I hope to see you at the f-festival t-tomorrow.’

With an effort, I quench the spark of excitement his hopeful words wake in me.

‘I hope you remember your place, prince.’


	8. Jahlwe

‘How come they are of different colours?’ I ask as the four of us are making our way towards the Pink lake: Ulysser is carrying blankets, Ariel – a basket with food, Turûvin – towels. As a guest, I am relieved of the carrying duty.

‘Thanks to a teeny critter… no, a weed… a bacti… bacri…’ Ulysser gives up and points at his brother. ‘Ariel is the only one who understands.’

Ariel rolls his eyes. ‘There’s not much to understand. It is due to a special bacterion – a tiny life form – that produces a coloured pigment to absorb sunlight. This one, for example, is pink.’

More lilac than pink, but I keep it myself, as the twins have already mocked me for nitpicking on their colour carelessness.

‘The high level of salt ensures that no other bacteria survives, thus making the colour undiluted,’ Ariel explains.

‘A wonder of nature,’ Ulysser concludes.

‘Created by your father,’ I add, still in awe at all the handmade miracles he’s done with the valley.

The twins exchange grins.

We settle on the shore, rolling soft blankets over the rocky crystalline ground, steps away from the frothy residue left by the lapping water. The water is warm strawberry milk and as I lower my hand, it resists my pressure, pushing my fingers to the surface.

‘This is incredible. How –’

My question drowns in the mighty splash of two identical naked bodies that have plopped underwater and resurfaced, whooping, giggling and spraying pink drops all around. Turûvin follows, diving gracefully without a sound, his body swallowed by the nebulous waters. For a moment, he is nowhere to be seen, until Ariel gives out a shriek, and Turûvin pops up at his side, laughing at the twin’s scared expression, which earns him a cuss and a splash in the face. He takes both, humbly, and dives again, this time unsettling Ulysser.

While they keep fighting, I plunge my feet into the pink murkiness. Never a fan of deep water – Nightgrove can only boast three rivers, shallow and so pristine, one can see every pebble at the bottom – I step in, expecting tendrils, slimy weeds or gooey muck, but the bottom is surprisingly clean, if a little prickly. When I’m waist-deep, I tilt back, and the water accepts me, cradling like a child. I’m floating…

But diving is out of the question – I’m pushed out immediately, rolled over a few times and spat out to the surface. My eyes and nose prickle with salt and I cough—

How do they do it?

After a while I climb back on the shore, and Turûvin follows, shivering, his skin covered in goose bumps. We wipe ourselves and put on our breeches, and sit on the blankets, nibbling on the food – I munch on a peach and Turûvin picks the smallest most bruised apple – while the twins frolic in the water, trying to drown each other.

‘Why didn’t Eltarion come with us?’ I ask most innocently.

Turûvin’s smile indicates that he knows where the conversation is going. ‘Eltarion considers swimming butt naked in public places below his status.’

Oh, he shouldn’t have said _butt naked_ and _Eltarion_ in one sentence. Now it’s all I’m thinking about.

‘What’s with your arm?’ he asks, pointing at the bandage.

‘We… had a sparring session with him in the morning.’

Turûvin’s eyebrows quirk up. ‘If that’s the case, shouldn’t you be happy? Why are you sighing like a heartbroken armadillo?’

‘After the fight he told me to remember my place and sent me away.’ I sigh again, remembering both, the kind looks he gave me, as well as the icy glances. ‘What should I do?’

‘I’m not the one to give advice in matters like these,’ Turûvin says, scratching the back of his head. ‘Teaching you how to navigate through an abandoned mine with a wounded dwarf on your back? Persuade a troll not to eat a halfling village? Deliver an orc baby in the middle of the forest? Absolutely. But love matters are not my forte.’

‘Haven’t you ever loved anyone?’

He finishes the apple – core and all – and grins at the shrieks and splashes coming from the lake.

‘These two.’

I think back to the days I wasn’t hopelessly in love. When I was free of torment and doubt, going through life unburdened, through lovers unbound, through places unattached. Would I prefer going back? To have never met Eltarion, never have him take my heart?

I look up and my chest fills with joy at the beauty around me. The sky rolls over the distant hills in a palette of gentle blues, with tinges of white and golden – milk and honey – smudging the edges. In the background, the mountains sore towards the clouds, circling the valley in a protective embrace, their slopes wrinkled and craggy, like the face of an old human, and just so, their peaks are topped with tresses of snowy hair. To my right is the emerald lake, a bright gem in the crown of Solvein. To my left lies the intricate canvas of the main gardens, bustling with festival preparations – laughter, and songs and moving shapes of all forms and sizes. This is another wonder, more incredible than the incompatible elements of nature: the inhabitants of Solvein – the motley outcasts of elves, halflings, orcs, humans and dwarves, that once found themselves unwanted by their own kin and sought shelter in the generous valley ruled by an accepting lord – living as neighbours and coexisting in peace.

No. This is more than just love for Eltarion. The valley feels like home, a place where I, with my confused mind, can be myself, freed from the conventions of being a prince, a warrior, my mother’s son. Like the colourful patchwork of Solvein, the pieces of me are finally coming together, and however frustrating courting Eltarion is, I won’t resign until there is no hope left.

‘If not advice, may I ask a question?’ Turûvin’s face is not particularly encouraging, so I add, ‘Just say it if I get out of line.’ There is a barest of nods, so I try my luck. ‘Has Eltarion ever—’

‘You’re out of line, Jahlwe.’

I give him a sour smile. Fair enough.

I consider the matter closed, but after we sit in silence for a while, it’s he who speaks.

‘I honestly think you two could be a good match. But… Eltarion has been mourning Gulurgon for three millennia, despite being courted by half the continent. Any trick you think of has been tried on him – gifts, compliments, feats in his honour, what have you – and none had effect. They only settle him deeper into his memories.’

I rub my forehead. ‘Then I should do something that will _un_ -settle him.’

‘What?’ Turûvin sounds skeptical around a mouthful of another ugly apple.

‘Just think, isn’t this logical?’ I lean closer. ‘What does he treasure most?’

‘The twins.’

‘I want his attention, not revenge. No, you said it yourself, Eltarion is preoccupied with his reputation, he wants to look decent in the eyes of his court, and my only chance to shake him out of his shell is to unsettle this.’

‘How?’

I rub my forehead harder. I look towards the gardens – the platform in the middle and the tall vases filled with the wide-stemmed white flowers.

‘I’m going to present him the amaryllis at the festival.’

‘The love flower?’ Turûvin stops chewing and stares as if I said I was a soul returning from the death pit. ‘He’ll throw you out.’

I shake my head. ‘It’s the only logical plan. He’s used to candidates trying to please him, so I must do the opposite.’

Turûvin runs a hand through his damp hair. He studies me, then shrugs. ‘You are insane.’ He sounds honestly worried for my mental well-being.

To share my plan with a more encouraging audience, I scan the lake for the sign of the twins – their wild giggling has ceased for a while now – but they are nowhere to be seen. There is no vegetation in view, but the salty rocks rising from the water create a few hiding spots.

‘Are the twins safe?’

Turûvin follows my line of vision. ‘They must be chasing some bug for Ariel. They do it all the time.’

I chuckle, but the ‘this is what they call it’ freezes on my lips as I see his genuine expression – he is either this naïve or simply willing to turn a blind eye to his beloved nephews. It’s not my place to make him face the truth, so I get to my feet.

‘I’ll go get ready.’

‘How? Pack your things?’

‘Go to the death pit,’ I laugh, even though deep inside my stomach quivers.


	9. Turûvin

I must have dozed off, as when I open my eyes, the twins are swimming towards me – two shiny-pelted otters, graceful and soundless. They emerge from the water, unashamed of their nakedness, and I look up to study a very dragon-shaped cloud while they dry themselves and, wrapped in soft towels, settle by my sides. After all this time in the water, their skin is still warmer than mine, so I bask in their closeness. Soon their heads are on my shoulders, as they often are, but there are no jokes, no chatter; I wonder at their timid serenity. Their silences are rare, but just as comfortable and familiar as their babble, and yet this seems heavier than usual.

‘Did you know your friend was insane?’ I ask to steer them away from whatever is making them so melancholic. It almost works, but they are pensive even in their smiles.

‘He is the kind of insane Father needs,’ Ariel says softly in my ear.

Maybe he is right.

‘I can’t wait to see Eltarion’s face when Jahlwe presents him the flower of love in front of everyone.’

Ulysser gives me a surprised look. ‘Does this mean you’re coming to the festival?’

‘I’m not going to miss that show.’

They fling their arms around me and I look away from where their towels loosen and show too much of their tanned skin.

Ulysser says, ‘This is going to be wonderful.’

And Ariel says, ‘We miss you at feasts.’

We stay this way – their arms and heads resting on my shoulders – and their warm silence is so calming, pleasant, it hurts. It’s too much. My heart is bursting. Oh, what am I going to do when they each find a mate and leave the valley? Or worse, settle here with their lovers and torment me with their happiness, their new lives, lives that don’t have time for swimming, or hunting bugs, or sparring with their uncle – their new lives that have no place for me?

The old burn over the left side of my back throbs, and I flinch at the pain.

‘Are you alright, Uncle?’ Ulysser whispers. His hand is on my scarred skin, soothing – the pulling ebbs at his soft touches and I release a breath.

‘I’m fine.’

Ulysser rubs his nose against my ear and says, ‘Then why are you sighing…’

Ariel brushes my temple and says, ‘… like a heartbroken armadillo?’

Little demons. I keep forgetting their hearing is better than mine.

I look towards the gardens – we should be moving out soon.

‘After all this mess is over – for better or for worse – I might go travelling again.’

They sit up, their eyes glinting a black fire.

‘Take us with you,’ Ariel begs. ‘We don’t want you to be alone when you get lost in an underwater labyrinth again or have to fight a whole fleet of slavers all by yourself.’

‘Should I remind you I survived those and got away with just a few scratches?’

‘And had we been with you, you wouldn’t have been hurt at all.’ Ulysser rubs the burn on my back again. I shiver under his warm fingers.

Ariel doesn’t even try to make it a question, when he says, ‘We were helpful on your last quest.’

They weren’t. They got in the way, dragged me into trouble and drove me wild with their chattering, and even more so with their silences.

‘You were.’

Ariel beams. ‘We could go south – you’ve never been to the demon island.’

I have enough demons at home, and I can see right through them. ‘Is there a butterfly you wanted to explore?’

Ariel lowers his eyes. ‘A moth.’

‘At least it’s not a mosquito,’ Ulysser chuckles. Ariel’s last research subject gave me a week of fever and rash.

‘This one is completely harmless,’ he assures. ‘Beautiful and rare. A golden-toothed puffer.’

I’d catch him a saber-toothed puffer, if he asked.

‘Sure,’ I shrug. ‘I heard they were rebuilding after a disaster of some sort. Ulysser could study their war scythes.’ They squeak.

We sit some more, their brows smooth again, their mouths smiling, their eyes clear of doubt, and I relax in their embrace until it’s time to get ready for the feast.

Mentally, I wish Jahlwe well.


	10. Jahlwe

‘What?’

I have never seen him this angry. No, not angry. Furious.

‘What?’ he repeats, even more affront in his voice. He would have strangled me, had we not been surrounded by a swarm of curious guests. Everyone is watching.

I gather all the strength left in me and repeat. ‘Lord Eltarion, p-please accept this amaryllis f-flower as a symbol of my—‘

‘—a symbol of the strengthening relationships between Solvein and Nightgrove, surely,’ he cuts in. His mouth is curled in a smile, but his eyes are casting lightnings.

‘This,’ I nod, ‘and my d-deep f-feelings for you.’

The smile is still plastered to his face as he looks around at the eyes fixed on the scene unfolding, all waiting for his reaction.

Why did I think it would be a good idea to profess to him in the middle of the festival? It is too late to recant now, so I stand here, the darned flower in hand, as he addresses the public.

‘Ai, naïve youth. Coming to propose to the children and ending up professing to the father, how typical.’ Muffled sniggering echoes around the room, sending more blush to my cheeks. ‘Turûvin, keep our brave Nightgrove warrior away from the drinks table.’ His eyes, filled with spite, turn to me. ‘Be careful, prince. You’d better cut down on the wine, lest you challenge Urramayan the Umbra Lord to release my father from the death pit to profess to him.’

Everyone is rolling on the floor, howling with laughter.

At his signal, the minstrels break into a lively song. The room fills with dancing couples, while other guests return to their conversation and food. When he is sure nobody is paying attention, he comes very close and grabs my elbow.

‘Now you will take your ridiculous flower,’ he says in a furious whisper, ‘and give it to the first person in this room that looks at you. You will admit your embarrassing behavior was the wine talking in your head and from then on you will never so much as cough into my direction. Otherwise you’ll be thrown out of the valley and banished till your ears fall off. Did I make myself clear?’

I blink away the stinging in my eyes, yank my elbow away and do the only act of rebellion I can afford. Never breaking eye contact, I snap the amaryllis stem in two and throw it to his feet.

Then I turn and leave.


	11. Eltarion

‘Father!’

I clench the banister to white knuckles. Least of all I want to discuss this with the twins.

‘Father!’

Ignoring them is pointless, so I use the opportunity to attack.

‘What kind of craze got into your wildling?’

Their eyes show little understanding.

‘Poor Jahlwe,’ they say, their voices full of reproach. ‘How could you have been so harsh?’

‘Harsh? I spared him, if anything. He was trying to make me the laughing stock of the valley.’

‘And still you could have let him down easier, my friend,’ says another chiding voice.

Brilliant. Exactly what I need at the moment.

‘How could I, Turûvin? He was standing there with that ridiculous flower, while everyone was watching and whispering.’

‘But you did lead him on.’

‘I did no such thing!’

‘Come on, the way you won your sparring match? And then you fought him again? In private?’

‘This is beside the point. At no time did I indicate he was allowed to approach me with the love flower. What was I supposed to do? Accept it? Acknowledge his feelings in front of everyone?’

‘But, Father, Jahlwe really loves you.’

‘That’s just—’ I turn to the elflings. ‘Wait, you know?’

‘Of course,’ Ulysser cries. ‘He says he feels love like never before, that every time he sees you, his soul is torn in two.’

‘In truth,’ Ariel says, shuffling his feet, ‘we encouraged him to present you with the love flower…’

‘Excuse me?’ My jaw drops in a most unlordly manner.

‘It all seemed very romantic when we were imagining it. Him, professing; you, accepting the flower; the crowd cheering…’

‘Are you out of your minds?’

‘ _We_ were ready to cheer.’

I cover my eyes with my hand. I’m a terrible father for having raised them this naïve.

‘This is madness. This is plain madness,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘Everyone is laughing at me, I am a joke of a lord.’

‘Nobody is laughing at you,’ Turûvin says. ‘Solveinians will rejoice if their beloved lord finds a little happiness.’

Ulysser tugs at my sleeve. ‘Why don’t you let it happen, Father? You return his feelings.’

I take my hand away from my eyes. ‘What?’

‘We see the way you look at him, you like him…’

‘… and he does deserve you. Imagine what it could be like, if you only gave him a chance—’

‘Stop it,’ I snap. ‘I’ve had it!’

‘Don’t you think you’ve mourned enough?’ Turûvin says. His words burn a whole in my chest.

‘Leave me,’ I say darkly. ‘All of you.’

None of them dare to disobey. When they are gone, I take a lungful of chilly air.

Why? Why is this happening? My life was simple and unperturbed, and after the calamities of my youth it was exactly what I longed for. A fine reputation, respect and decorum, shouldn’t these be a lord’s ambitions, prioritized above personal urges?

There is a whiff of ibbilica to my left.

‘I don’t know what to do, Seoras,’ I whisper.

He wraps a fur mantle around my shoulders. ‘You know what to do, but something in you is fighting it; we just need to find out what it is.’ Seoras always knows how to dissect unfathomable emotions into simple elements.

He gives me a little smile, his silvery hair a glistening halo under the moonlight. ‘So what is it you know you must do?’

I pull the mantle closer. ‘Throw him out of the valley.’

‘And what is stopping you?’

I look for the answer within myself. As my fingers bury into the fur, my mind flashes the images of prince’s stay in Solvein: his timid love confession; his stuttering attempts to woo me; his adorable face, a frangipani whitening behind his ear; the excitement we both felt during the two times we sparred; his blueberry eyes, filled with hurt when I rejected him…

I don’t answer for so long, Seoras runs out of patience.

‘It is just a phase, Eltarion,’ he says softly. ‘It will pass.’

I freeze. Seoras keeps talking, but I don’t hear him anymore. These words… they are what my father said when I told him the mate of my choosing was a male. At first, while father still used words instead of simply yelling and cursing me, he would insist that my affinity was nothing but a phase, that it would pass and I would look back at it with embarrassment and regret; that instead of following my short-lived ridiculous passions, I needed to think of how I looked in the eyes of others; that as his heir and an aspiring earth sorcerer I must concentrate on being grounded and productive, build a reputation, create lands for the vassals, have children…

My stomach churns. By the Spirits. Isn’t it my life exactly? The land, the children, the darn reputation… Have I become, despite all my efforts not to, my father?

Plunged into the softness and warmth of the fur, my fingers are prickling with icy needles.

‘Eltarion?’

Seoras is studying me, his head tilted to the side.

‘Thank you, my friend.’ I squeeze his shoulder and, ignoring his questioning glance, walk away.

I stop at Jahlwe’s door, and stand there, clutching at the mantle. I am indeed laughable. Knock or leave. Knock or leave. Leave?

Knock-knock.

It takes him so long to open, I give up just as he jerks the door. We stare at each other.

Oh, he is hurt. But so good at hiding it.

‘My lord?’ He retreats inside the chamber. ‘If there is some matter we need to d-discuss, you’ll have to k-come in.’

I make my way inside, past his half-packed travel bag and a heap of clothes on the floor. He is busy checking his shoulder knives, unsheathing the blades and giving them a rub with an oilcloth.

I watch him for a while, noting what the sunny days of Solvein autumn have done to his appearance: gilding his skin, reddening his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, turning the crown of his already fair hair into milky white. How did Ulysser put it? _Imagine what it could be like, if you only gave him a chance_?

‘It appears you are leaving, prince.’

He places the blades on the table and proceeds to check on his sword.

‘I’m afraid I am. I only cause you d-discomfort with my ridiculous affection. I don’t think I can b-bear any more hateful looks on your part.’

‘I heard Nightgrove elves were famous for their stamina, but I take it these were just rumours then.’

‘Better stamina?’ he gasps, missing the dash of a smile I have for him. ‘I said I loved you and didn’t get a single warm word in return. You just dismiss me.’ Pained as he is, he is not shouting, rather, pouring his feelings to me. ‘It’s not a g-game for me. I have been t-trying to get your attention for th-three months—‘

‘—and I have been alone for three millennia!’

It comes our more desperate than I intended, so I drop my eyes, calming my breath. He freezes, sword in one hand, oilcloth in the other, his eyes drilling me with the intensity that makes me uncomfortable.

‘Forgive me, prince, I didn’t mean to shout, but—‘

He tosses everything to the floor and advances, a step at a time.

‘My lord? Are you saying… are you g-giving me a ch-chance? D-do I have the p-permission to… k-court you?’

His hopeful expression is too sweet to bear.

‘I considered you good enough to give you the hand of one of my sons, there is no reason I would think you unworthy of myself.’

He bites his lip and shuffles his feet. Is he trying not to jump with excitement?

‘I th-thank you, my lord…’ he starts.

We look at each other, as we both know what must follow. And we laugh, even though none of us says the words.


	12. Jahlwe

I make my way to the gazebo, praying to the Spirits I find him in his favourite hiding spot.

Here he is, reading, reclined on the sofa, propped on an elbow, cheek on the palm, feet wrapped in a warm blanket. The cool evening breeze carries the sweet frangipani scent, caressing his raven hair. I want nothing more but to crawl in on my fours and beg for the touch, but I restrain myself: to win this battle, I must act cautious, almost uninterested.

‘My lord?’ He looks up and I press on. ‘Forgive me if I s-startled you. I was intent on reading, and this does seem like the perfect place to avoid any disturbance…’ I pause at his raised eyebrow. ‘If you d-don’t mind my company, of course.’ He lingers, perhaps, choosing a polite way to dismiss me, so I add, ‘I won’t b-bother you with talk.’ I still blush every time I remember my embarrassing attempt to impress him with the conversation about stars. ‘I promise I’ll leave the moment you tell me to.’

His expression tells me he deliberates on doing so right now, but in the end, he gives a sigh and nods.

Ignoring the chair, I lower on the floor right in front of his couch, cross my legs and open my book. With the nape of my head I can feel his eyes on me, and my hands tremble, yet I force myself to find the right page and focus on putting the wriggling runes into words.

I don’t go far before his low voice pours into my ear.

‘What are you reading, my boy?’

‘History,’ I say without turning.

‘Something with me in it?’

I chuckle, nodding. ‘The Great Rebellion.’ I finally face him. ‘We never had a b-book about that p-period in the Nightgrove library, so all I know are rumours and h-hints.’

‘How far are you?’

‘Halfway through. When you, Gulurgon and the Cursed one—‘

He narrows his eyes slightly. ‘He had a name then.’

‘Krimgon.’ The name comes out more easily than I expected. ‘When the three of you reached the T-tower of Sorrow.’ I watch him for signs of discomfort, but he seems relaxed, so I venture a question. ‘I still don’t f-fathom how...’

‘How what?’

‘It’s written here ‘ _And the day came when the white turned black...’_ but I can hardly believe a ch-change like this can happen in a day.’

He tilts his head. ‘It didn’t.’ He closes his book and shifts into a more comfortable position. ‘Before that day the three of us had done a lot of good: slain vicious dragons, destroyed Spirit-defying savages, eliminated dark wizards. But as we moved on from feat to feat on our endless quest for righteousness, we realized that… not all the dragons we’d slain were vicious, not all the savages were Spirit-defying, and, certainly, not all the wizards were dark.’

‘Which one of you saw it first?’

He gives a rueful smile.

‘Gulurgon, of course. For the two passionate hotheads like Krimgon and I, he had always been the voice of reason, our consciousness, our measure of right. Long before we came to the Tower of Sorrow – which was then called simply the Norrex Tower – he attempted to reason with me, make me see the truth, but I only had ears for Krimgon’s speeches of our divine purpose, the chase for absolute justice. So when we reached the tower, I told Gulurgon that if he loved me, he’d follow. And he did.’

I see sadness in his eyes as he remembers his past. Was it wrong to bring this up? I search for a question that will sway his thoughts away from his former lover. ‘The mage who lived in the t-tower, what was his name?’

‘Beňoun. And when he saw us, he didn’t fight back, simply accepted his fate. This enraged Krimgon, as he preferred enemies that struggled, so when we were done, there was nothing left of the human, just a jagged emerald pendant in a black splash on the floor.’

‘And you saw you’d made a mistake?’

‘As we were leaving, we met a human woman. She was carrying her sick son to the tower, and told us the mage inside was the kindest, most selfless healer, who helped any that came asking. Words like this even I in my clouded mind could not ignore. When I faced Krimgon, he said puny humans were of little concern to him, and that was the moment I woke.’

‘Did you try to stop him?’

‘We did.’ He looks away, his fingers brushing the lizard brooch on his chest. ‘He ignored our pleas, raving about his ultimate goal, his own divine purpose. He said his destiny was to challenge the Spirits and subvert the Great Radayamar himself.’ He sighs. ‘We shuddered. We demurred. We said we would not follow. Krimgon raged, screamed he would do it alone, without the traitors that we were.’

‘A lone elf going against the Sp-spirits? How did he accumulate enough p-power to even attempt something of the sort?’

‘By the time magic had become our second nature, our blood and bone. And he was the strongest among us three, ruthless and powerful beyond fathomable. We’d pillaged an immense collection of artifacts, Krimgon’s dragon blades alone were strong enough to cut through the tethers of the world. His strength made him fearless. His boldness even earned him sympathies among the Spirits themselves. Urramayan the Umbra Lord famously refused to prematurely take Krimgon’s soul, even after the other Spirits’ urges.’

‘Who stopped him?’

That sad smile again. ‘We did. Gulurgon and I lured him into a trap and passed him into the hands of the Spirits.’ He pauses. A gust of wind drapes his hair over his eyes. He tucks the inky lock behind his ear.

‘Their ruling for him was imprisonment?’

‘Two millennia of oblivion,’ he says, ‘Krimgon’s soul left to repent in the Umberworld’s darkest prison.’

‘And you? What happened to Gulurgon and you?’

‘Stripped of magic, we were sent back to the world to build our lives anew. We were like new-borns, learning everything from scratch – making fire, finding food and shelter… without magic it turned into arduous toil. Things like hunger, weariness or cold started to affect us, as if we were not fully elven anymore. But worse still was to understand that we were unwelcome among our kin. Trying to find a place to call home, we wandered among elven kingdoms, and the mildest name churned at us was _Spirit-defying brats_. Your mother locked her gates in front of us, saying she didn’t harbour oath-breakers.’

I meet his eyes. ‘Sounds like my mother.’

‘We found temporary shelter with my cousin Qoonwe and stayed for a decade or two. Then we left, looking for a new home, a new life, and after years of search found the Solvein valley. It was a patch of wasteland in the middle of nowhere and it was exactly what we wanted. The first thing we built was a forge, as Gulurgon couldn’t wait to start working with metals and gems again. He made me the lizard brooch and… the next day he was gone.’

My heart squeezes. ‘What happened?’

He studies me for a bit and then smiles.

‘This, my boy, you’ll have to read in your book yourself.’

He makes a move to go back to his own reading, but I lean in to stop him.

‘How about the Cursed One?’

‘What about him?’

‘After one millennium of his sentence, you p-prayed the Spirits to release him. You p-pledged for him. Weren’t you apprehensive of whether he would be back as your old f-friend or the mad k-killer? Of letting him into your h-household? Of how Solveinians would treat him?’

‘I was,’ he snorts. ‘And rightfully so. To this day, no matter how much he’s changed, there are those who shudder away when they see him or wash their hands after touching. I knew it would be so, but he… he deserved a chance, and Seoras persuaded me to try. When the Cursed One was released, I was scared, but, it appeared, so was he. Even though I had kept his swords, for years he was unwilling to touch them, right until Solvein suffered from a wraith attack. He appeared in front of our gates, dragon blades in hands, and as I saw him fight beside me, I knew there was no bloodlust in his eyes, only the need to protect his new home. When the threat was over, I offered him to be my commander and he accepted.’

‘And changed his name.’

‘Yes. Old Krimgon was dead. And so was the Cursed One. There was only my friend, and an uncle to my children.’

I take a few moments to settle the pieces of the puzzle in my head. ‘I’ve always had troubles imagining Turûvin as the feared villain of old,’ I admit.

Eltarion snorts. ‘Try taking food from his plate, you’ll get a taste of it,’ he says. ‘In any case, I owe you an apology, my boy.’

I look up, and our faces are suddenly very near. ‘For what?’

His warm expression sends tingles down my spine.

‘I’m afraid I just gave out the ending of your book.’


	13. Eltarion

‘…and?’

I look up at Turûvin. ‘And what?’

‘What happens then?’

‘Nothing.’

He observes me, crooking an eyebrow.

‘You mean each night you two sit there in your gazebo simply reading?’

‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘And it’s… nice.’

‘ _Nice_ ,’ he chortles.

Unexplainable heat rushes to my cheeks. My glance bounces around his study, looking for something to distract me from blushing, but Turûvin being Turûvin, his walls are bare, save for the dragon blades dangling sadly on a rusty nail. It’s as if he is still unwilling to attach himself to the place, still expecting something horrid to chase him away.

I content myself with fidgeting with the rings on my fingers.

‘I feel comfortable around Jahlwe. He reads about history and asks me questions about the days of old. And not silly questions to keep me going. He is shrewd, asking about secret agenda and true motives, things you won’t find in the books.’

‘And?’ Turûvin drawls.

‘And what?’

‘Are you going to go further than reading?’

‘I don’t know.’ The idea of going further has visited me more often than it is polite to admit, but something has always held me back. ‘He is very attentive and caring. He brings me hot tea and cuts me pieces of apple… and, now that he knows I am affected by the cold, he always fetches an extra blanket. And when it’s time to go back to the house and I put my feet down, he helps me into my house shoes—‘

Turûvin cringes. ‘Don’t tell me he is the same as Gulurgon, having this bizarre obsession with your feet.’

I roll my eyes. ‘You walked in on us once, and we weren’t even doing that much.’

‘And to this day I am traumatized by the memory.’ He tries to sound tragic, but his voice rings with laughter. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found another just as odd.’

‘This is nothing like that,’ I say. ‘Jahlwe is simply attentive. He takes care of me and, frankly, it’s been so long since anyone had.’

‘Then what is stopping you? Why should you begrudge yourself of this happiness?’

‘Because he is a boy compared to me.’

‘And what of it? Look, my friend, would you rather your new mate was an ancient earnest bore or a spirited lively youngster? After all, you haven’t bonded with Ruvindil for a reason. It’s not like he never proposed.’

It’s true. Ruvindil, King Querian’s advisor and my childhood friend, approached me after Gulurgon’s death. Uninterested, I have never given it a serious thought, but now that Turûvin says it, the bond with Rundivil would have been auspicious, reasonable and – oh so excruciatingly boring.

I sigh and Turûvin puts a hand on my shoulder.

‘In three thousand years, you have not met anyone worthy, and now you are attracted to this open-hearted boy… It’s a sign. A sign that you two are fine-tuned to each other. Besides, Jahlwe might be young, but at times he acts so wise, I forget I’m talking to an elfling.’

‘Indeed. The way he controls his emotions and speaks with reason, he reminds me so much of Gul—’ I meet Turûvin’s raised eyebrow and trail off. ‘But what if on his part it is nothing but an infatuation?’

‘And what if you are to spend the next three thousand years in his company? You can’t know for sure until you give it a try.’

His tone is supportive, and, despite my doubts, I smile.

‘There is one thing I do know for sure.’

‘Which is…?’

‘I am going to do some reading tonight.’

Turûvin laughs.

‘Have nice reading then.’


	14. Chapter 14

The supper drags so slowly, it seems to never end. With the last clank of the forks, I jump up, and bolt towards the doors. On my way out, I catch a glimpse of Eltarion – he is standing up, muttering an apology for breaking Seoras mid-sentence, and watches me leave.

In a few minutes, I’m in the gazebo, a cloak and a book in hand. Just as I settle cross-legged on the floor, he enters and, after a nod and a smile, takes his place behind me on the sofa. There is a rustle of pages, a whisper of silk, a few soft breaths and then silence. He doesn’t move, or speak, and yet, I feel his presence with my skin.

I steer my attention towards the runes on the page, and just as they start making sense, a hand lowers on the top of my head.

I startle, then freeze. Fingers plunge into my hair. Soft tips trace my braids, tickle the nape of my head, run down the neck. Eltarion's skin radiates warmth and renders my muscles limp with pleasure. The books trembles in my hand. I press my lips tight and sit quietly under the tantalizing touch, my heart pounding in my chest and my breathing speeding up.

‘My lord?’ I say after a while, as he keeps caressing me in this gentle, almost innocent way.

‘Hmm?’

I turn, and his face is so close, I could count every star in the night sky of his irises.

‘Yes, my boy?’ he smiles. His smile is dizzying. His warm breath caresses my lips.

‘I have a s-small request.’

He smiles wider, picking up a fallen frangipani and tucking it behind my ear. ‘Sure, my boy.’

I clear my throat. ‘Could you… not call me _my boy_?’

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘And what would you rather I called you?’

I look skywards.

‘I could do with a B-brave Warrior…’

He chuckles.

‘…or a Stunning Wraith S-slayer…’

He snorts.

‘…or a Brilliant K-kisser.’

He is silent. Or perhaps the blood thumping in my temples is blocking my hearing? But no, his lips are sealed. A knot of fear and desire is writhing in the pit of my stomach. Am I being too bold? Have I ruined it? Will he take an offence?

He studies me, his eyes wide and unreadable, until finally his fingers are under my chin and his thumb traces over my bottom lip.

‘You know titles like these are not given for nothing, prince. You have to earn them.’

I hold my breath. He closes his eyes and leans down, and I reach up, and our lips meet. He is so soft, I’m drowning. Incredible warmth flutters in my chest and the hair at the back of my head stand on end. I tilt my head, deepening the kiss. His lips part and he breathes into my mouth, pressing harder, touching my tongue with his. I am rendered blind and deaf, lost in the smell of frangipani and the taste of mint. I lean in—

He sits up, straightening his robes, at the approaching steps. Master Seoras, stiff and haughty, as he always is, enters the gazebo.

Oh, why would he come at the most unfortunate moment?

‘My lord,’ he bows, ‘the ambassador of Iristad has arrived and is awaiting in the parlour.’

‘Thank you, Seoras, I am on my way.’

I am trying to catch his glance, as he slips into his shoes without my help, but he avoids eye contact.

‘Shall I walk you to the parlour, my lord?’ Seoras asks.

‘Sure, my friend, lead the way.’

They disappear behind the magnolia trees, leaving me completely disoriented. Was I good? Was he disappointed? Am I going to be banished from the valley tomorrow?

At the hurried footsteps, I sit up. There’s a whiff of frangipani as Eltarion rushes in and walks swiftly towards the sofa. ‘I forgot my book,’ he explains.

At the exit, he turns and finally our eyes meet. He flashes a crooked smile.

‘Good night, Brilliant Kisser.’


	15. Eltarion

Next evening, we barely read a page before our books are cast away and we are back to kissing.

His lips are gentle and when I press my hand at the back of his sunny head to pull him closer, he leans in with a little moan. I melt. There is nothing else I’d rather be doing than sit here, enjoying his mouth, catching his breath, making him tremble. I don’t even want to jump into bed with him, not yet. This slow tender exploration – his hand, timid on my shoulder, my fingers outlining his jaw – this is all too good to rush into something more. I feel young and excited and pure. I want to savour his closeness, take my time discovering his affinities and pleasure spots, like Gulurgon and I did at the start of our bonding.

The evening slips by unnoticed, both of us too engaged to bother, until the darkness creeps in and the air gets chilly. Reluctantly, I pull away.

‘It’s late,’ I whisper, rubbing my nose at his cheek.

He keeps still for a few heartbeats.

‘Will we...’ he clears his throat, ‘will we d-do some reading again t-tomorrow?’

I chuckle. ‘Of course.’ And then I click my tongue in disappointment. ‘Not tomorrow.’

‘Why not?’

‘This day three millennia ago... Gulurgon left the Upperworld.’

Jahlwe frowns. ‘And?’

‘And each year I spend this evening at his burial place.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I... weed the flowers, wash the statue, prune the peach trees...’

He thinks a little. ‘Can I come with you?’

‘Wouldn’t it be awkward?’

‘For whom?’

Not for him, judging by his open expression. Would it be awkward for my long-dead lover? Would it be awkward for me?

‘I’ll meet you at the gates after the official dinner is over,’ I say, sliding my feet down.

He smiles, helping me into my shoes. His fingers brush against my ankles, and I shiver.

Thinking tomorrow’s evening will be spent in Jahlwe’s company lightens my heart. I’ll just need to warn Seoras his help won’t be needed.


	16. Jahlwe

I can’t take my eyes off it. Looming a head taller, the statue has the body of a warrior and the face of a spirit. His long hair is loose and falls in wild waves around his face. In one hand, he is holding a large gem and in the other – a sword. His eyes, kind and melancholic, are directed forward, but I swear they follow me around the tomb.

I clear my throat. ‘You come here every year?’

‘I do.’ Eltarion plunges a piece of cloth into a bucket of water. ‘Seoras says it has a healing effect.’

‘Does it?’

He rinses the cloth and wipes the dust off the stone lid that covers the white marble coffin. He looks different today. His hair is done in a single braid. Instead of robes, he is dressed in a tight tunic and leggings of practical amber. The bottom of my stomach hums every time he turns.

‘It did, at first,’ he says. ‘I would come here and feel calmed, strengthened. But...’ he lingers, ‘not anymore. It’s like he used to be here… and left.’ He lifts his eyes towards the statue’s chiselled face.

‘Is it p-possible that it was you?’ I suggest. ‘At first you needed him, but with t-time you were ready to let go?’

He polishes the lid for a bit and then gives me a small smile.

‘I bet you and Seoras could have a long discussion about this.’

I smile back, but deep inside I know a discussion with Seoras, no matter the topic, is the last thing I’d want.

We work side by side, until the statue is shining, and the coffin is polished. He moves outside the tomb to the little orchard with the peach trees.

‘How can I be of help?’ I ask.

He hands me a pair of thick gloves. ‘Put these on and weed the grass around the trunks. Just leave the scilla flowers.’

I kneel at the first tree, while he walks around it, inspecting the leaves and the branches. He slides his fingers along the bark, snaps a twig and studies the split. Then he picks a dead leaf, crushes it in his palm and, closing his eyes, takes a whiff of the crumbs. All this looks like a mysterious magic ritual, but I know it is not.

‘What did it feel like?’ I ask when he opens his eyes. ‘To lose magic?’

He shakes the dust off his palms. ‘Like dying.’

Armed with a pair of large shears, he is cutting off dry branches while I pull at the stubborn stalks.

‘When I was young, my father pushed me into earth magic,’ he says. ‘Had I been given a choice, I’d have picked something flashy. Fire, like Krimgon. Or transformation. But father said I needed stability, a magic that would ensure my successful future. I didn’t care for it: dirt, worms, fertilizers – it all seemed so useless.’

I frown. ‘It does seem useless for a warrior. How do you f-fight with earth magic? Krimgon’s fire is obvious; Gulurgon’s mind-reading is strategically handy; but this?’

He gives me a crooked smile. ‘Don’t underestimate earth magic. Dirt can swallow you, worms can eat you alive from the inside and how to use fertilizers, I’ll leave to your imagination.’ He sighs. ‘But better still was the feeling of something growing and evolving at my will, of giving life, making something beautiful… Only when I lost it, did I realize how much I’d loved it. Oh, my father would have laughed at the irony.’

‘Is it him, your father? On the p-portrait in your study?’ I look up from weeding. ‘There is a lot of resemblance b-between you two. Except that he looks as if he’d just eaten a lemon.’

Eltarion chuckles. ‘That’s my father alright. An elf of little compromise. Whatever he wanted for me, I was to comply.’

‘Did you? Comply?’

‘I did. Until we disagreed on something I could not concede. We argued and never spoke since. I wasn’t even at his funeral.’

We move to another tree. I weed the grass, and he cuts off dead branches.

‘Is this why you are so lenient with the twins?’

He works silently for a bit.

‘You think I’m spoiling them?’

I shrug. ‘Some of the p-pranks they play…’ I pull at a particularly nasty plant. It struggles and snaps. I dig for the root. ‘The time they convinced poor Ephinwe there was a g-ghost in the library… I’ve never seen an elf this scared. Mother would have chased me up a t-tree.’

His sheers are clicking above my head.

‘They are free to explore the world as they wish. I merely ask that they don’t hurt themselves. Or others. Anything else, I accept.’

‘Anything?’

The clicking stops. He walks towards another tree and I swallow at his silhouette, adumbrated by the setting sun.

‘What about you then?’ he asks, when I settle down by the trunk. ‘Did you study magic?’

I shake my head. ‘Mother says magic is ch-cheating. Things are better done by hard work.’

‘She might be right.’ A branch thwacks to the ground, missing me by fingerbreadth. ‘Sorry,’ he winces, and, seeing I am not harmed, continues. ‘If not magic, then what do you delight in?’

I hitch a shoulder. ‘Mother says swordsmanship is my f-forte.’

‘She’s right again, you’re brilliant.’

My face grows hot. ‘Thank you.’

He grunts as he snaps off a particularly thick branch. ‘But ‘mother says’ is not the same as ‘I delight in.’’

This flower-bed complete, I proceed to the next one. He follows.

‘Tell me,’ he urges. ‘I’m not your mother, I won’t judge.’ There is a smile in his voice.

My jaw twitches so much, nothing comes through. I haven’t had such a horrid bout of stutter since childhood.

_I delight… I delight in…_

Nothing. I close my eyes; take a few gulps of air, just like Master Riantha taught me. _‘Pretend you’re diving into water…’_ I open my eyes.

‘Colours,’ I say on the exhale.

‘Colours?’

Another exhale, ‘Drawing.’ A breath. ‘I draw.’

‘Oh.’

I look up. He studies me. And then smiles. ‘I’d love to see it some time.’

The strain in my jaw abates. I wipe my brow and smile back.

In syne, we move around the little orchard, until the flower-beds are weeded, and the peach trees are trimmed to his liking. By the time, the sun is long set and the gardens are dressed in indigo robes. I shake the dirt off my knees, while he puts away the tools. Then he stands in the middle of the tomb, observing our work with a satisfied smile.

I move closer. There is a dry leaf in his hair, and when I brush it away, my hand lingers at his cheek. Our eyes meet.

‘Not here,’ he whispers and leads me outside, along the stony path towards the main garden.

He pulls me into the shadows of a nearby myslehil tree. My shoulder blades are shoved into the trunk, while he presses hard against me, chest to chest, and claims my lips in a forceful, desperate manner. I yield, guided by his need, moulding myself against him, submitting to his passion. His grip on me is tight, one of his hands at the back of my head, the other around my waist. Our hips touch, sending waves of desire, weakening my knees, and I grab at the tree trunk not to fall.

We part for an intake of air. The figure that passes us, oblivious of our presence, is clad in a dark cloak, but even from a distance Seoras’s uptight posture is unmistakable. He is in a hurry, and as he walks right by, something whitens in his hands. A flower. When he disappears inside the tomb, Eltarion lets out a sigh.

‘My dear wonderful Seoras...’ I can’t tell whether his sigh indicates relief or sadness.

‘Why the flower?’

‘The night lily was on Gulurgon’s coat of arms,’ he says softly. ‘Every morning after my vigil at the tomb, I would find this flower on the coffin. I knew, of course, it was Seoras’s doing, but he was so discreet, I never caught him in the act. This left a flicker of hope, of magic... Ah well, I presume it was time for me to see the truth.’ He takes a step away from me. ‘Let’s go, I’ll walk you to your chamber.’

The closer we come to my quarters, the more unsettled I grow. What can I say to make the evening last? I slow down my steps, and he paces himself to my stride. Is he just as unwilling to part? Soon we are nearly crawling at snail speed, but even this way we finally reach my door.

Eltarion looks at me, his eyes blending with the darkness that surrounds us.

‘Thank you for your company today,’ he says. ‘But I must go.’

He turns, but, desperate at least to try, I take his hand. My fingers brush his skin, and I recoil.

‘Your hand...’ I say, ‘it’s grown so k-cold.’

He rubs his palms together. ‘The autumn is at its end and tonight is particularly chilly.’

Here it is. My opportunity. My heartbeat quickens.

‘I-I… my room is warm...’ My cheeks burn as I wade through the stutter. ‘I k-could make you s-some Nightgrove t-tea... it’s known for its restorative p-powers—’

His kiss shuts me up. As I press to the door, it opens, and we stumble inside, still latched onto each other as if glued together. The way he kisses me, his hands raking through my hair, makes me dizzy. The brief thought of whether I should at least try to offer him the tea disappears, as he leads me straight to the bed and pulls at my belt. He tugs at my tunic and undershirt and I lift my arms to help him remove both. His palms, still cold and so tantalizing, explore my chest, while I run my hands down his back, pressing into him harder and harder, until he loses his balance and we tumble on the bed. We stay this way, side by side, catching our breaths.

My head reels with desire. This is better than any dream I’ve had about him.

I roll him on his back, pinning him with my weight. Trapped under me, he goes limp, and when I tilt my head to nozzle the softest skin on his neck, lets out a sigh. I fill my lungs with his divine smell, leaving a wet trail of kisses along his jaw, all the way to his ear.

Our hips are rocking against each other, our lengths rubbing through the layers of clothing. I reach down to the hem of his tunic and lift it, my palm on his thigh. At the back of my mind I wonder how far he wants us to go tonight, but his shallow breathing and glazed expression encourage me. My hand is grazing up the silk of his leggings. I reach the hip, the curve of the buttocks...

‘Stop,’ he exhales. So softly, I’m not sure I’d heard right.

I take my hand away and pull up on the elbow to look into his face, but he sits up, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.

Forcing at least some of my blood to flow back into my brain, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. Then, sheepishly, I touch his forearm. ‘Eltarion?’ I move closer, and, to my surprise, he lets me press to him and wrap an arm around his shoulder.

‘I am sorry, Jahlwe,’ he finally says.

I know I’m a step away from being thrown out of his life, so I choose my words carefully.

‘What have I done wrong?’

He shakes his head.

‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘Nothing. Nothing. I just… I can’t. Forgive me.’

I can almost hear the statue gloating. The ubiquitous ghost is standing between us, again, and there is no point in dancing around it.

‘Is it about him?’

He gives a slow nod, and for a moment I lose my resolve.

‘It’s been three thousand years!’

‘You think I wasn’t counting?’

His voice rings with frustration and I chide myself for flaring up.

‘You can’t be saying that in th-three th-thousand years you have never t-taken a lover.’

‘Of course, I have.’

‘Then why is this d-different?’

‘Because it has always been a simple arrangement – we joined our bodies and parted ways. I made it clear there was no feeling involved, but you,’ he turns in my embrace, the coals of his eyes sizzling my heart, ‘you won’t stop at having just my body, will you.’

It's not a question, so my answer is redundant, but I still say it.

‘I won’t.’

‘That’s why it’s hard. Staying faithful in my heart is my last bond to him, my last hope.’

‘Hope for what?’ I say as softly as I can muster. ‘He is dead.’

He closes his eyes and when he opens them, I read my death verdict in his face.

‘I am asking too much of you. You are a mere child. I was deluding myself.’ He pauses at my pained expression and lifts a hand to my cheek. ‘The memory of him – of loving him – is and will always be a part of me.’

‘I understand,’ I say. ‘And I accept this. I’ll wait as long as it takes you to overcome this.’

‘What if I never do?’

‘Then I’ll still love you as much. It’s just… if he…’ I can’t bring myself to say the name. ‘If he was, in fact, as v-valiant as they all say, I can’t imagine he would want you to s-suffer like this, in loneliness and f-frustration—’

A quiet chuckle interrupts me. He curves his lips in a resemblance of a smile.

‘Such an unsophisticated attempt at manipulation…’

I smile back. ‘My apologies.’ His hand is still on my cheek, so I cover it with mine. ‘At least, will you stay here tonight? I don’t think you should go back to your ch-chamber while you are this upset.’

His smile grows.

‘A much more sophisticated attempt at manipulation. You learn fast, my prince.’

And he stays.


	17. Eltarion

Why? Why do you bother with me, my boy? Why do you tolerate an old troubled elf’s antics when any gorgeous youngster would die to have you as a suitor?

Fair hair fanned out on the pillow, blueberry eyes glazed over in sleep, lips parted as if in an invitation – he is a heavenly vision. I have fallen out of the habit of waking up with muscular young bodies next to me. I let my fingers ghost over his cheek. Oh, my sweet prince, you are so patient… you’ve warmed my soul. I thank you for that. But how have I repaid you? By confusing and unsettling your mind? I am so sorry, my boy…

I intend to caress his shoulder in a chaste manner, but as I feel the tight roll of muscle underneath the sheet, the temptation is too great to fight. I trace the outline of his biceps and brush my hand down the chest. There comes a muffled moan as I accidentally run my fingers over a nipple. I do it again, quite intentionally this time, and he squirms. Curious, I slip off the sheet and – yes, here is it. His proud hardness, in need of release, separated from me by a thin layer of the white cotton of his breeches.

With a barely audible whimper, he moves his hips and arches his back. ‘Please,’ he whispers. ‘Eltarion, please…’

Not that asleep, are we?

This I cannot resist. What are you doing to me, my boy? Carefully, I undo his laces and crawl down. By the Spirits, I needed this: the soft skin against my lips, the warm fullness in my mouth, the bittersweet taste in my throat… Right now I don’t want to dwell on the future or the consequences. For once I don’t bother what would be better for the valley or what others might say. I simply want to be a selfish elf, unfettered and free, devoted only to pleasing the male in my arms, hearing his breathing grow shallow and dry, making him climax and say my name as he does—

What? What did I just hear? I sit up, wiping my mouth, and peer into those stormy eyes, still glazed over with unawareness.

‘Jahlwe! Jahlwe!’ In my anxiousness, I almost scream his name.

He blinks, then jerks up, panic twisting his face, and props himself on his elbows.

‘Eltarion? What is amiss?’

‘Have you… been asleep?’ I can’t keep my voice from trembling.

‘I-I…’ he stutters, ‘I have. W-what is—wait, why are my b-breeches…?’

He looks up in alarm and my hand jerks to wipe my mouth again.

He said it in his sleep? But he couldn’t possibly know… Have I misheard, imagined, hallucinated? A three-millennia-old scar rips my heart. Why? Oh, by the Spirits, why is this happening? Just when I was ready to move on…

‘Eltarion? P-pray tell me, have I m-mistreated you?’ The dismay in his voice yanks me from my tumult.

‘No, no, you did nothing wrong. You just… said something in your sleep, and I thought it was… I must have misheard.’

‘What was it?’

He reaches out and I pull away.

‘Nothing. Nothing. Never mind. It’s past sunrise already.’ I get up and straighten my tunic. ‘I will see you at breakfast.’

I so much as bolt through the door.

As I rush towards the terrace, the familiar corridors bear down on me, confining and gloomy. My vision is blurred, my throat is parched, and my hands are shaking as I open the doors and burst outside. The first intake of fresh morning air burns my lungs, but also cools my nerves, so by the time I walk into the terrace, my breathing evens out and my tremor subsides.

Seoras notices me from afar and rushes to meet me, his face drawn in worry. He knows me too well. Turûvin joins him, and soon they are at my side, bombarding me with their concern.

‘Do you fare well?’ Seoras asks. ‘Is it a headache again? Do you need me to fetch a calming draught?’

‘What is it?’ Turûvin asks. ‘Are the twins fine?’

I gesture for them to stop chattering and they fall silent.

How can I even begin to say this?

‘It’s—’ the words come out too quiet and I clear my throat. ‘It’s Jahlwe.’

‘What has he done?’ Turûvin asks darkly, while Seoras lifts an eyebrow in the inevitable ‘I told you so’.

‘Has it ever seemed to you that – by the Spirits, I can’t believe I am about to say this – that he reminds you of… of…’

‘Of queen Amedee?’ Seoras frowns. ‘Of course, he does. The boy bears a perfect likeness to his savage of a mother.’

I open my mouth to correct him, but Turûvin interrupts.

‘I think I know what you are saying.’

‘You do?’

He shifts uneasily.

‘The twins had us spar a few days ago. I won the first time, employing some tricks of old – things we were taught at the academy, millennia ago. The next round he used them all against me, flawlessly. None of my warriors ever learnt this fast…’

Seoras stares. ‘You can’t be implying that—’

‘What about his annoying attention to colours?’ Turûvin adds. ‘His maturity? Reason?’

Seoras turns his head from Turûvin to me, his green eyes wide and disbelieving.

‘And from this you decided he is Gulurgon reborn?’ he gasps. It is the most emotional I’ve ever seen him. ‘Because he is good at waving a sword and has the magic ability of thinking straight? Eltarion, this is ridiculous.’

I chew on my lip.

‘Tonight, in his sleep, Jahlwe called me a name. A very private name that nobody – nobody – else knew.’

Seoras snaps up to me. ‘In his sleep?’

Oh, am I going to have to tell my friends I spent the night in the boy’s bed?

Turûvin hurries to my rescue. ‘What name?’

‘ _Me poi._ ’ I am surprised my voice doesn’t break.

‘ _Me poi_? A peach?’ Seoras says incredulously.

‘ _He_ used to call me that.’

We all know who _he_ is.

Turûvin narrows his eyes. ‘And nobody knew?’

‘Did you? You have always been our closest friend, did you?’

He shakes his head. ‘Did you ask the boy?’

‘Yes, when he woke up. He doesn’t remember. Says he was asleep.’ I look up at my friends. ‘How could he even know elder elvish?’

Seoras rolls his eyes. ‘This is what you base your conclusions on? The boy dreams about something and mumbles in his sleep. What of it? He could have been hungry and dreaming of peaches. Or perhaps ‘me poi’ is not such a rare endearment and his _elder elf_ of a mother used to call him that? You only see what you want to see, Eltarion, and you know it is a dangerous road. As your healer, I call to your reason. I have once dragged you out of the deepest throws of disconsolation, and I beg, do not subject yourself to this torture yet again. The boy will only cause your suffering. Besides,’ he adds in a calmer manner, ‘don’t you think it is unfair to use Jahlwe, now that you’ve realized you only care for him because he reminds you of Gulurgon?’

‘Is it t-true?’ Jahlwe asks, standing a few steps away, wide-eyed and disheveled. ‘I remind you of him?’

I close my eyes briefly. ‘You do,’ I admit. ‘But… wait, Jahlwe, it doesn’t mean—’

His eyebrows pinch in pain and he bolts past the door.

‘Seoras, why would you say that?’ I snap. ‘Look what you’ve done.’

‘Only what’s best for you, Eltarion,’ he says softly, getting hold of my elbow. ‘The boy is no match for you.’

‘Then who is?’ I ask, flaring up. ‘Or would you rather I spent my entire life alone, in love with a ghost? I thought you were my friend.’

He flinches, letting go of me, his face distorting like a cracked mirror. ‘I am your friend…’

‘If you were truly my friend, you wouldn’t begrudge me of my happiness.’

I push him away and dart towards Jahlwe’s chamber. The closer I get, the lighter my way is. I know, I finally know my heart. I know whom I love. I know—

I shove the door open—

‘Jahlwe?’

There comes no answer. So last time, after I rejected his love flower and he was pretending to be leaving, he was _pretending_. How long did it take me to reach his chamber? Long enough for him to grab his things and leave…

Could he still be at the stables, readying his horse? I turn on my heals. As I rush around the corner, I collide with Ariel.

‘Father,’ he howls, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘Ulysser is in the healing wing. He is unconscious and not breathing, and Seoras can’t tell what is wrong…’

My hands ball into fists. I close my eyes for a moment. I take a shuddering breath.

‘Let’s go.’

I allow myself a single glance in the direction of the stables as we pass them.

Jahlwe is not there.


	18. Eltarion

‘Order my horse to be saddled, Turûvin,’ I say as I burst into my chamber.

He follows.

‘Please, Eltarion—‘ he starts, but I know what he is about to say.

‘Are you going to side with Seoras? Wasn’t it you who encouraged me to open my heart? I am telling you, my mind is set. Get my horse ready.’

‘Eltarion, wait until morning,’ he pleads. ‘As your commander, I can’t let you ride off into the night in this haphazard manner. It is cold and you are tired, I’m begging you to wait—‘

‘I have waited for two darn weeks!’ I say. ‘And now that Ulysser is well again, I intend to fight for the elf I love.’

Turûvin puts a hand on my shoulder.

‘Wait until morning, my friend. With the first rays, I will personally saddle Merilorn for you.’

I sigh, as, in truth, I am tired. He gives my shoulder a squeeze and then smiles. ‘Try to get some sleep before your journey.’

He is about to leave when something about his expression makes me suspicious. ‘What are you smirking about?’

‘Smirking?’ he says innocently. ‘I am doing no such thing, my friend. Good night.’

The door closes behind him and I am left, once more, in the darkness and cold, alone and broken-down.

 _‘Get some sleep,’_ he said. Sleep was a rare visitor to my chamber during the two weeks that Ulysser was unconscious. In the scarce moments that I wasn’t terrified for my son’s life, I was plagued with the thoughts of Jahlwe – will he forgive me? Will he believe? Will he even listen?

I sink onto the couch and bury my head in my hands. The bed emanates cold, so I’ll sit here through the night and as soon as the sun is up, I’ll be on my way to Nightgrove. To you, my sun. To see you, talk to you, hold you, even if it’s for the last time…

As I sit, hunched in my half-sleep, muttering my thoughts, there is a flutter of movement and something touches my shoulder, making me jump.

I look up in disbelief.

‘Jahlwe?’

He – if it truly is him, not a vision of my haunted mind – sits down next to me and takes my hand.

‘It’s me.’

I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in the fluff of his sunny hair. He smells like pine forest and raspberries.

He completes the embrace and shares his warmth.

‘Were you really going to ride all the way to Nightgrove to talk to me?’ he asks.

‘I was.’

‘What did you want to say?’

‘That I love you.’

He places his hands on both sides of my face and pulls away to see me as I say this again.

‘I love you,’ I repeat. His face is calm, but his eyes are full of tears, so I hurry to add, ‘And when I say it, I mean that I love _you_. You do remind me of him, this is something I cannot fight, but it is just a part of you, and not the only part I love. I love all of you, Jahlwe. All of you.’

He leans in and kisses me. Deeply. Stops for a moment to take a breath and kisses me again.

‘I have a confession to make,’ he says, pulling away and running a hand over his eyes.

After a few deep breaths, he clears his throat and slips his fingers through mine. With each passing second, my worry grows, but I do not force him.

‘It is my mother’s confession.’ He clears his throat again. ‘Do you know how my father died?’

‘Wraiths?’

He nods. ‘Mother never talked about it, the memories pained her, so I never asked. In fact, we never talked about… um… our love ways. But when I returned home a week ago, broken-hearted and despaired, I told her. Everything. It just poured. How I met you and fell in love, how I tried to get your attention and how I left, not willing to be… a substitute.’

‘Jahlwe, you were never a sub—‘

He shakes his head. ‘Please let me finish.’

I close my mouth and squeeze his hand in mine. At the back of my mind I wonder at the lack of stutter: his speech is clear and fluent, if a little quivering.

‘Mother then told me about the day father died and I was born. They were travelling to mother’s family in Golden Wood. At night, wraiths attacked their escort. Mother’s bodyguards died protecting her. Father slew the last of the wraiths, but he was fatally wounded. And… that was the moment for me to come into this world. I was weak and small, and barely breathing. Blinded with grief, mother wanted to fall on her sword, leave the Upperworld with us, when in this state of near madness, she saw a dark figure, clad in indigo, approach her.’

‘Urramayan, the Umbra Lord?’ I ask, hardly believing what I was hearing.

Jahlwe nods. ‘The Spirit leaned down to touch father and a silvery cloud escaped his body, blown away by a gust of wind. As he leaned over to me, mother, not fully knowing what she was doing, pushed him away. Surprised that a living elf saw him, the Umbra Lord stopped, and mother begged him to spare me. The Spirit said it was beyond his power. He explained that my soul was already halfway to the Umbraworld, so should it return, I would always be half-souled. He said, however, that there was a soul the Spirits had been meaning to return to the Upperworld – one that deserved another life. The soul was old and had been roaming the death pit for millennia, and there was no telling whether any of its memories and feelings were intact. He said it would become an inseparable part of me and I might never find out that instead of one whole, there are two halves of different souls inside of me. He asked if mother agreed to the deal. And she did.’

He looks at me with the blueberries of his eyes, and I don’t dare breathe. If I take a breath, my lungs will burst, my heart will freeze, my body will collapse. All I do is stare without blinking, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

Jahlwe moves closer, his eyebrows pinched in worry.

‘Eltarion?’

I run my hand over my forehead.

‘I need to lie down.’

He helps me up, but as we reach the bed, the fog in my head settles and his words sink in. I stop in my tracks. I grab him, hold him so tight, my arms grow numb. He leans in and when his face presses to my neck, I know he is crying. It’s alright. My cheeks are wet, too. After all, we have been waiting for three thousand years.

I know not how long we stand, but my tears are still cooling my skin when he moves, his lips brushing against my jaw. His breath tickles my neck. With every gentle soothing touch, my shock steps away, giving way to desire. He kisses my cheeks dry and when his lips reach mine, I answer. The kiss starts light and timid, but quickly grows frenzied, desperate, possessive. Our fingers shake as we grab at each other’s clothes, nearly ripping them apart. Naked and breathless, we fall on the bed, grinding against each other. He arches his back in anticipation, the muscles of his stomach tensing under my caress.

My head swirls in a hazy trance. I explore his body – so new, and yet, it trembles the same at my touches. Oh, how I’ve missed this: joining bodies in love, not just lust, worshipping the elf in my arms, trusting, opening until there are no secrets, no doubts, until we are one. Blood thumps in my temples. My body is hot as if my magic is back. Burying my hand into his hair, I press him tighter. Our lengths slide together, and he lets out a low humming noise that sends a jolt of excitement down my spine. The only thought that still lingers in my reeling mind is how much I love him: the name matters not, the past is unimportant. I love _him_. I want him – I growl into the kiss – I want him so much. My hands roam down the smooth skin of his back, moving lower until my fingers reach his buttocks.

I pause. I yank my mind out of the dazed state of desire.

This is our first time together. Debatable as it is, Jahlwe and I have never been intimate, so assuming he wants to be taken, however much I crave to do it, is erroneous. Perhaps he wants to do the taking? Perhaps he wants no taking involved at all?

I pull my hand up, drawing circles along the small of his back, when he lifts his thigh and hooks it over my hip, opening himself, giving me permission and dispersing my doubts. Thank you, my prince.

I reach out for the dressing table and grab a vial from the drawer.

When my oily fingers touch him, he tightens, but doesn’t break the kiss. I explore him slowly, a digit at a time, watching his reactions and listening to his breathing. One finger, then two, until he starts pushing back into my hand, inhaling loudly at every thrust. By the Spirits, for three thousand years, I’ve not desired anyone this much.

I settle between his thighs and take a moment to savor his aroused state – the deep red blush on his cheeks, the swollen lips, the tangled hair… Least of all I would want to see this face drawn in pain.

‘Jahlwe…’ I breathe into his ear, rubbing myself along the cleft between his buttocks.

He opens his eyes – the dark blue gems glazed over with fervor.

‘Guide me, me poi,’ he whispers.

These words almost undo me, but I grit my teeth and take a few sharp breaths to regain control. I know what to do. I remember how he liked it.

I place myself firmly at his entrance. My voice comes out low and shaky, when I instruct, ‘Tighten around me…’

He does, and as I lean in to kiss him, I count.

Fifteen.

I run my fingers through the sunny tresses of his hair and caress his cheek.

Ten.

I outline his collarbones with butterfly kisses.

Five.

I suck on his bottom lip.

‘Now relax.’

He does, and I moan in ecstasy as his body swallows me effortlessly inside, opening for me without pain, only pleasure.

Jahlwe’s head falls back and his mouth snaps open, but he doesn’t scream, doesn’t even breathe. His hands are on my shoulders, nails sinking into my skin.

Fully sheathed, I freeze, trapped by the silk of his passage, knowing that any move would undo me.

After a few agonizing moments, Jahlwe lets out a long shuddering breath and releases his grip on me. He gives an encouraging roll of his hips.

I screw up.

‘Please, by the Sprits, my sun, don’t move yet,’ I whimper, ‘you are too incredible.’

There is a satisfied chuckle in my ear, as he lifts his legs and latches his ankles at the small of my back.

‘I _am_ incredible,’ he murmurs and jerks his hips up, devouring me with his warmth and tight muscle. Once. Twice. Three times… By the Spirits. I am on top, but he is in command, driving me wild and rampant. I give in to his rule, obey his will, let him do with me as he pleases. Under such attack, my self-control is only enough to support my weight, not to collapse on him, but even this is dwindling with every thrust of his amazing body. One more such move, and I seize up, arching my back and growling, my world exploding in a burst of shiny pieces, my muscles shuddering in jolts of overwhelming bliss. My mind swirls in a blend of thrill, happiness, love, relief, and, inevitably, guilt.

‘I am sorry, my sun, I’m sorry,’ I mumble. ‘Just give me a moment, and I’ll—’

His arms are pulling me down and I collapse, while he presses me tight to his chest.

‘I love you, me poi,’ he whispers into my hair and kisses my temple. I melt, and slip out, and finally relax against him.

After I take my first full breath, I roll off, pressing to his side, letting my hand smooth down his stomach.

‘What would you like now, my sun?’ I ask, unable to keep a lewdest smile off my face. Now that I have quenched my hunger, I want to centre on his desires. ‘Would you like to take me? Or perhaps you’d like my hand… or my mouth… or…?’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Or? There is an _or_?’

My smile almost evil, I scoop lower. Leaning back and propping on my arms, I slither my foot towards his navel and suggestively wriggle my toes.

My smile and my confidence are just a pretense. I have no notion whether he will like this or laugh at me. If all the clues I have dismissed as coincidences during our previous interactions were, in fact, glimpses of Gulurgon’s old predilection, it would be a delight. Were they not, I would be embarrassed beyond imaginable. It is with trepidation that I wait for his reaction, so when he looks up, eyes wide and unblinking, a shining mix of fear and hope, my smile becomes genuine.

I slide my foot up his chest. He watches the movement, his breath speeding up, and when my foot raises to his face, closes his eyes. I tap my toes against his lips. He takes hold of my ankle, caresses the skin, and slowly, as if in a half-dream, places a kiss on the toes. My tickling reflexes suppressed long ago, all it does is make me warm and languid. 

His actions are indecisive, bashful, so I take the matter into my own hands. Well, feet. I pull out of his grasp and run my toes down to his throbbing erection. Tenderly, I pull at the skin, rub it and tickle, and every touch extracts a moan and a shudder.

I lift the other foot and press it on the other side of the shaft.

‘Guide me, my sun.’

He opens his eyes and looks down at where he is squeezed between my soles. Breathing loudly through his mouth, he puts his shaking hands atop of my feet and moves them up. And then down. He starts slowly, but soon his motions become jerky and spasmodic and rash. He tightens, throws his head back, lets out a broken gasp and splashes his warmth on my toes.

I feel blessed.

Blessed that I am the only one who knows him. Who can give him this true highest pleasure. Who can let him be himself.

With my undershirt, I clean us up, and when he rolls away to his side, lie down behind him, pressing tight, covering us with a blanket. I remember how much time it took Gulurgon to accept himself and learn that I accept him too, so I offer my silent support without needless talk.

‘I love you, my sun.’ I kiss him on the leaf of his ear and fall asleep.


	19. Jahlwe

I wake up, my nose plunged into the silk of raven hair. As I take a breath, the frangipani smell, so familiar, so precious, fills my chest.

And then the memories of last night flood in. Shame fevers my face. I roll on my back and press a hand over my eyes.

My whole life this was the part of me I denied. An obsession this filthy and unnatural, I curbed it even in my thoughts. His have been the only feet I could not resist. Helping him into his shoes was the highlight of each day. I craved for it, yet also feared he would find out my shameful secret.

But last night… the ease with which he accepted my failing, even encouraged it… Could this mean my cursed weakness is Gulurgon’s inheritance? The valiant hero of legends, the master jeweler and the fabled mind sorcerer harboured this flaw and yet was blessed with the love of the world’s most marvelous elf? Does this mean I could also be… forgiven?

The memories wash over again, but this time, they heat my body with excitement, not guilt. I drop my hand and open my eyes to see Eltarion watching. There is a light smile playing on his lips and when our glances meet, he leans down to kiss me.

‘Good morning, my sun,’ he whispers. ‘Are you in the mood for breakfast?’ I nod. ‘Then get up.’

My ears grow hot again.

‘I can’t. Part of my soul might be millennia old,’ I explain feebly, pulling the sheet to my chin, ‘but my body is young…’

The sound that comes out of him can only be described as giggles.

‘This I can assist you with.’ 

He dives under the sheet and then his hands are on me, caressing and stroking. I spread my legs to give him more space. I am enveloped by the wet warmth of his mouth while his fingers crawl up to tease my nipples. My breath catches in my throat and my body thrums. I grasp at the sheet. The focus of pleasure travels up and down, fire cursing, sweeping through me, until it bursts, constricting my muscles in a shot of euphoria and then relaxing them to the point of limpness.

As I lie, struggling to regain my breath, he emerges, smiling like a cat, disheveled and puffed.

I smile back. ‘I thank you, my lord…’

He chuckles, his voice soft and sticky. We lie side by side, looking at each other.

‘Would you want to wear matching robes for the Harvest Festival?’ he asks, running the pads of his fingertips over my lips.

So he wants everyone to know about us? My toes curl and my stomach fills with warmth.

‘I’d love that.’

His hand travels up to graze my cheek. ‘Any colour preference?’

‘Your manatee gray matches you so well.’

‘My what?’

‘The robes you once wore, a gray with a light blue undertone that—’ I trail off, as he starts to chuckle.

‘No stones could be just red with Gulurgon,’ he says, ‘they had to be crimson, or cherry, or mahogany, or sangria. He was so upset when I told him they all looked the same to me. For him, standard colours were never enough.’

My eyes wander along the tawny silk of his skin, the shine of midnight blue over his jet-black hair, the bashful roseate of his lips…

‘I want to be exact when I describe the world’s beauty.’

He sighs.

‘My sun,’ he says softly, ‘do you have… any memories?’

My smile fades. I know he would want me to remember.

I shake my head. ‘All I have are dreams. Blurry and senseless.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Soon after I met you, I dreamt that I ran. I ran so fast, it almost felt like flying. And then…’

‘And then?’

‘You were there, running even faster. And I… I was mad, so mad at you, I woke up yelling—‘ I look up and he is grinning. ‘What?’

He rolls on his back and stares wistfully at the ceiling.

‘I lost my head over Gulurgon in the academy. I did all I could for him to notice me, but apart from his studies he cared for little else. He was the best at everything – magic, athletics, art. Krimgon and I, we were slackers, idling our time away playing music and making more mischief than progress. Tired of my desperation, Krimgon – always hungry for drama – suggested that to impress a victor, I needed to best him. So for the rest of the year I did nothing but study, until my eyes were red, and my muscles were sore, and Krimgon was sorry he had planted the idea in my mind. And at the next trials I was second to Gulurgon in almost everything. Except for running. We ran against each other and I won.’ He turns to me. ‘It was the only time I saw him lose his temper. He caught me in the corner and yelled I was a filthy cheater, a fraud, that I could not have bested him and was wrongfully awarded. And I—’

‘— you kissed me!’ The words tumble out of my mouth before I have the time to think them, and only then do I notice I say _me_ instead of _him_.

Eltarion caresses my hair.

‘I did. I kissed you. I could wait no longer.’

‘And then you left, and I was confused… mortified.’ The tormenting kiss and its consequences was another dream I’ve been having and couldn’t cohere. ‘I thought it was a jest.’

‘I was trying to earn your attention.’

‘You succeeded. Did I approach you after?’

‘You avoided me,’ he snorts. ‘Perhaps, in your logical mind, a shirker’s attraction to you was illogical. It was not till my invitation to the summer solstice celebration that you believed the honesty of my intentions. But from that day on, we were inseparable.’

I smile. He leans in with a kiss, his whole body pressing into me.

‘Stay here,’ he breathes into my ear. ‘I will have breakfast brought to my chamber.’

The table is set on the balcony: fruits and baked mushrooms and sweet-smelling black bread and his favourite tea. A cool breeze rustles withered leaves across the white marble floor and, after I cover his shoulders with a fur mantle, we settle opposite each other.

‘So Ulysser fares well?’ I ask, sinking my teeth into a peach.

‘Thank the Spirits. Seoras deduced it was the boy’s reaction to dream rue.’

‘The spice herb?’

‘Uh-huh. He’s had it since childhood. Ulysser has no idea where he could have consumed it that day, and in a portion large enough to nearly kill him.’ He pauses and looks up. ‘How do you know of Ulysser’s ailment?’

I put the peach seed down and pour myself some tea.

‘Turûvin wrote me a letter.’

Eltarion peers at me, fork in midair. ‘He did what?’

‘A few hours after I reached home, a messenger arrived with a letter from Turûvin. He wrote that had it not been for Ulysser’s sudden illness, you would have followed me to Nightgrove. He asked me to reconsider and come back, settle the misunderstanding between us.’ I take a sip of the tea. It tastes of mint and cardamom. ‘He met me upon my arrival yesterday, led me to your chamber and wished me luck. He also said that if I ever hurt you, I would see the wrath of the Cursed One.’

Eltarion throws his head back in laughter. ‘Did you tell him your mother’s story?’

‘A brief version.’

He quirks his beautiful lips in a crooked smile. ‘How did he react?’

‘He cursed. Then laughed. Then hugged me and went to fetch you.’ I watch him closely when I say, ‘Turûvin is very protective of you.’

Eltarion goes back to his food.

‘He should be. He owes me his freedom, his home, his family.’

‘Has he had a mate?’

‘Never since he was absolved.’ He chuckles sadly at my disbelieving expression. ‘It is the truth. This is how we’ve been living – three old prudes. I was bonded to your memory, Seoras – to his potions, and Turûvin…’ He sighs. ‘I worry about him. He puts up a front, but I have seen him roam the gardens, lost and grievous, many a night. I fear he is still consumed with the guilt of our old sins and cannot forgive himself enough to be truly free. It is the Harvest Festival in two weeks’ time and it will pain me to know he’ll be, as always, sulking alone in his room.’ He looks up, his eyes bright with hope. ‘Perhaps you could talk to him about the matter?’

I nod, as there is another dream that has been bothering me, and if it turns out, just like the others, a trace of a faded memory, I have a few questions to ask commander.

We finish our food, talking about the time of his marriage and my life in Nightgrove, and that’s when I remember that my mother is on her way to Solvein. He pales, then reddens, but finally agrees to try build a civil bond. Good. Now I need to persuade my mother to do the same.

It is long past noon that we start getting dressed. Watching Eltarion slip into his silvery robes and brush the waterfall of his ebony hair gets me all excited again, and when I press my need to him, he laughs and calls me insatiable, but graciously lets me take him. It is glorious. Hearing him give me passionate instructions in between breaths drives me wild. The way he guides me on how to please him better, when to go slow, when to strike harder, when to do it right there, oh yes, my sun, don’t stop, oh yesohyesohhhh…

Sweet waves of satiety roll over me as I am making my way to the training grounds. The clanking of swords, curt commands and light hurried steps guide me forward.

Turûvin turns to greet me.

‘Ai, my friend,’ he says, giving me a pat on the back.

‘Ai, Turûvin.’

We stand next to each other, watching the twins spar.

‘Your back is open again, Ariel,’ he yells, ‘watch it.’

The boys look up and pause their fight.

‘Jahlwe!’ Ulysser beams at me.

Ariel gives me a mocking bow. ‘My lord elder elf.’

Ulysser joins him and they compete as to who bows lower.

Turûvin curbs their waggery. ‘Did I say your training was over? Show me a good parré.’

With a bit of whining, the twins stand to their positions.

‘You told them,’ I say, watching Ulysser pounce on his brother.

‘I could not resist,’ Turûvin chuckles, his eyes glued to the boys’ smooth movements. ‘They squeaked like excited pups… Keep your balance, Ulysser! That’s it.’ He gives me a sidelong glance and asks in a lower voice, his tone amused, ‘Eltarion fares well today, I presume?’

‘He does.’ I clear my throat. ‘And how do you fare?’

‘How do you mean?’

I shift on my heels.

‘Eltarion worries about you. He says you spent all this time alone, not attending celebrations, alienating yourself from any elves that showed interest…’

‘Ai, apart for three millennia and all you talk about is my love ways?’ Turûvin shakes his head. ‘I thought you’d find a more engaging topic to discuss.’

I smile, but don’t let him distract me. ‘And yet?’

Turûvin rolls his shoulders.

‘I choose to be alone, Jahlwe, because this is my wish. I don’t _suffer_ alone.’ His smile is wide, but his voice tenses a fraction. He narrows his eyes at the twins. ‘Ulysser, try getting to him from the left. Good!’ then to me again, ‘I do not need anyone to make me happy. So tell Eltarion I am not attending the Harvest Festival, but I am fine. Do not worry about me.’

‘I wouldn’t worry. Unless you are alone because… _I am a loathsome thief who stole him from you._ ’

Turûvin’s smile disappears. He takes his glance off the fight and examines the tips of his boots.

‘You remember…’ he says. He stands very still, then lifts his eyes back to the training ground, but doesn’t really follow the sparring twins.

‘Look, Gul— Jahlwe,’ he starts, ‘I had a millennium to contemplate our last conversation. The more I thought, the more I saw you were right. About everything. As always. It was never Eltarion my heart desired. It was what you two had. The love you shared, the trust, the acceptance. For what I said then – I am sorry. But then again, there are so many things I am sorry for…’ He takes a deep breath and quickly turns to me. ‘But rest assured, however obtuse my mind was at the time, I was never foolish enough to tell him about those feelings, let alone act on them. I beg you not to tell him. I-I cannot lose my friend over this old lunacy—‘

‘Uncle!’ Turûvin’s head whips up towards the twins. They are on the ground, Ulysser on top and pressing a sword to his brother’s chest. ‘I won!’

Turûvin swallows hard before speaking.

‘Good job, my boy,’ he says. ‘Enough for now. We’ll work on your mistakes after lunch.’

Ulysser helps his brother up and they hop onto the platform. Frowning, they stand on both sides of Turûvin.

‘Why are you upset, Uncle?’

Turûvin is silent and I answer for him. ‘I’m trying to persuade your uncle to join the Harvest Festival, but he refuses.’

The twins’ eyes light up.

Ariel grabs Turûvin’s elbow. ‘Please come, Uncle. Neither I, nor Ulysser has a mate this year, the three of us could have so much fun.’

Ulysser squeezes Turûvin’s shoulder. ‘Uncle, come. We want to dance with you.’

The boys chatter and whine and I am almost ashamed of what I have released on him. Turûvin makes a few attempts to shake his head, but this only kindles their zest. They smother him with pleas, rub their bodies at him, and quickly move from persuasions to threats. He yields under their assault: his cheeks grow a nice shade of pink, his brow unfurrows, his smile reappears.

‘Alright, alright, enough,’ he laughs, moving his doting glance from one twin to the other. ‘I’ll come.’

Ulysser gives a giddy whoop and Ariel presses his lips to Turûvin’s cheek. His blush deepens.

‘Go change,’ he says softly. ‘Time for lunch.’

They hop away, discussing their plans for the celebration, while we stand there in silence, watching them go.

I give Turûvin a sidelong glance.

‘You know, if you told Eltarion about this, he would probably approve.’

He tilts his head. ‘Told him about what?’

I blink at him. Is it an act? Or does he honestly not realize?

‘About you and them. One of them. Or both, I don’t know.’

Turûvin’s expression grows horrified.

‘What?’ he says in a stunned whisper. ‘They are my nephews.’

‘No, they are not. You share no blood.’

‘How dare you,’ he says menacingly. ‘I was there when they were born, I told them bed-time stories, gave them piggy-rides—‘

‘Are you persuading me or yourself?’ I ask. His face crumbles as if I’d hit him, so I soften my voice. ‘They are grown-up elves who are free to choose their own mates, Turûvin. And they are clearly interested. Why don’t you give it—’

‘Shut up,’ he snaps. Then takes a breath. ‘You think you can waltz in after three millennia and start telling everyone what to do? Go to the death pit.’ I step back, and he advances. ‘You died on us. You don’t know what we have been through. Eltarion atoned his sins with his broken heart, and I? A thousand years of imprisonment? What kind of punishment is this?’ he spits. ‘I have corrupted… so many… and those that did not yield, I slaughtered… The human in the Tower of Sorrow, when he refused to fight me, I burnt him alive, I watched him turn to ash, until all that was left of him was a magic trinket.’ He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them they are swelling with tears. ‘To this day the jagged emerald pendant haunts my dreams… I would have preferred a true punishment – torture, slavery, death. Anything that would give me a chance to redeem myself, to pay for what I have done, to find… forgiveness.’

‘You have served your sentence. You were released, allowed to live here, find a new name and a new home. Don’t you see, Turûvin, you are forgiven.’

‘What do you know of forgiveness!’ he roars, clutching his fists, the volume of his voice rising with each sentence. ‘A hero, blessed by the Spirits, absolved enough to be given a new body. You will never know how I feel. There is no forgiveness for me. There is no one left to forgive me!’

‘Then what, your answer is to torture yourself by loneliness till the end of your life? Believe me, looking for forgiveness in the arms of the twins would be much more enjoyab—‘

He hits me so fast and so hard, I taste blood in my mouth and stagger away.

‘Turûvin!’

We both look towards the scream.


	20. Eltarion

Thank the Spirits Seoras told me where to find them. He said he saw them arguing, but this? Actually coming to blows? What in the Spirits’ name is happening?

As I hurry towards the platform, Turûvin rushes past me, without barely a glance. I reach out to catch his wrist.

‘Turûvin?’ I say darkly.

We stare at each other, and what I see chills my bones. The look. The fire in his eyes. I saw it millennia ago. The look of the flame sorcerer, hungry for blood.

He shakes off my hand and stomps towards the gardens.

I walk up to Jahlwe. ‘Did he hurt you?’

He wipes his lip. ‘It’s nothing. And I probably deserved it.’

A highly unpleasant feeling is churning in my stomach.

‘Is it something I need to settle right now?’

He takes note of my formal attire and, judging by his darkening expression, realizes his mother is here.

‘No,’ he says. ‘It can wait. Where is she?’

‘Her grace is waiting in the gazebo. She desires to see you before she talks to me.’

He comes closer and takes my hand. ‘Please be patient,’ he says softly. ‘She is my mother.’

‘I will be on my best behaviour.’

We share a quick hug and an even quicker kiss, and head towards the gazebo. I make a step to enter after Jahlwe, but the queen’s guards block the way. I swallow a bitter lump that seems to have been my pride and stand outside.

Jahlwe comes out after a while, his posture strained and his face unreadable. He gives me a small encouraging smile and signals for the guards to let me through.

Amedee is sitting in my armchair as if it were her throne. Her shiny hair spills over her shoulders, and her travelling armour brings out her strong, but graceful body. There is not much resemblance between the mother and the son, except, perhaps, for the wild hairstyle and the sharp outlines of those proud cheekbones.

I give her a light bow and take a seat.

‘I am allowing you to ask me three questions,’ she announces instead of a greeting. ‘And then I am going to ask three of mine. At that our conversation will cease.’ She lifts her chin. ‘You may start.’

I linger. ‘May I first express my gratitude, your grace, for—‘

‘Is the concept of three questions this hard to fathom, Eltarion?’ she says with condescension. ‘I am not here to waste my time. Use your words wisely.’

I bite the inside of my cheek. Three questions it is then.

‘How long have you known whose soul your son is sharing?’

‘Never. I never knew, I only suspected.’

She falls silent and tilts her head.

I tap my fingers on the armrest. ‘I’m afraid I cannot accept this answer, your grace.’

Her look is hard as she studies me.

‘When Jahlwe was in his crawling age, he developed a peculiar affinity for colours. Uninterested in anything else, he would draw for hours, mixing his own paints and making his own brushes. I dismissed it as a childish whim. A few years later he stumbled upon my jewelry box. As I found him, the gems had been sorted according to size, make and preciousness. That I could not ignore. Especially after he took a piece of coal and painted all his friends’ hair black. So I installed a ban on gems, threw out all the books about you from my library and prohibited him from visiting Solvein.’ She looks at me pointedly. ‘Is this satisfactory?’

‘Why did you not tell him?’

‘Why did I not tell my five-year-old son that he shared the soul of a murderous dead elf?’

My fists curl at the _murderous_ part.

‘Because he was already…’ she pauses, choosing a word, ‘odd enough. For years he did not start to speak, his stutter too heavy, as if two people inside him were fighting for what to say. As he finally spoke, his first question was, ‘Mama, did I die?’’ Her stony expression breaks, and she clutches the armrests. ‘I did not want to raise an elf whose sole destiny was to be your lover. I wanted my son to have a choice, find his own path… But I had to know you’d sneak in.’ She takes a breath and straightens her shoulders. ‘This is your last question, do not squander it.’

I smooth a wrinkle on my lap.

‘Would you ever consider… forgiving me?’

She looks me in the eyes, a long testing look. I hold it.

‘This will depend on how you answer my questions,’ she says. ‘Do you love… my son?’

Fortunately, this question is easy to answer.

‘I do.’ I hope it comes out as honest as it feels. ‘I love Jahlwe, and not just because his soul is blended with Gulurgon’s.’

‘I have never properly met the elf,’ she says. ‘Which part of my son, would you say, is him?’

‘It’s difficult to say,’ I admit, searching for a way to express it. ‘Jahlwe is not a quilt, sewn together from pieces. He is a whole elf, with thoughts, dreams and desires, and even if some of them are traces of Gulurgon, they are now his own.’

I look up at Amedee. She sits back, her brow unfurrowing.

She pauses before her final question.

‘Answer me truthfully, Eltarion,’ she enunciates with crisp precision, ‘would you ever, under any circumstances, revert to your old nefarious ways, corrupting my son to join you?’

I take a calming breath.

‘Look at me, your grace,’ I say. ‘I am old. A lord and a father, I have responsibility for the Solveinians that I would not dare neglect. My old mistakes are avowed and accounted, and, I pray, forgiven.’

‘What about your commander?’

This is technically her fourth question, but I graciously ignore it.

‘Rest assured, my lady, Turûvin is of the same mind.’

‘I want to hear him say it.’

Under my formal robes, I break into a sweat.

‘Then let us ask him.’ I keep my voice even, despite my trepidation. ‘You will see for yourself how changed he is.’

Amedee raises gracefully and I lead the way to Turûvin’s chamber, the royal guards following us half a step behind. Jahlwe is nowhere to be seen, which is for the best, as, with the Spirits’ blessing, his absence will render Turûvin in control of his temper.

The door to the chamber is open, and as I walk close enough to peer inside, I freeze.

I press a fist to my mouth, stifling a scream.

This can’t be happening. Not again. Radayamar the Almighty, take away my sight, so that I do not have to see what is in front of me—

Jahlwe, prostrated on the floor, a blade stuck in his chest. Not just a blade. A dragon blade. And crouched above him, hands over the wound, fingers covered in blood…

‘Turûvin?’ I rasp, choking on the name.

I am pushed aside by a roaring Amedee, who bursts into the chamber and drops to her knees at her son’s body.

‘Jahlwe!’ she wails. ‘What have they done to you! My boy…’

Hurried steps jar me out of my stupor.

‘What happened here?’

I grab Seoras’s elbow. ‘Oh, thank the Spirits, it’s you.’

I drag him inside. His eyes shoot open at the scene, and he calls for his assistants, then lowers at Jahlwe’s side. As he examines the wound, more onlookers arrive at the ruckus and stand, gasping and murmuring, in the doorway.

‘It is deep, lacerated,’ Seoras says in his healer’s tone, curt and emotionless. ‘His body can fail any moment, I need him in the healing wing immediately. Nobody disturb me.’

Two assistants run in with a stretcher. Amedee and I help transfer Jahlwe – he is unconscious and deathly pale.

Everyone gawks as he is carried away.

‘You!’ I hear, as soon as the healers disappear. Amedee’s face is twisted as she points at Turûvin. ‘A vile devious miscreation! Guards, get me his head.’

I rush to stop her. ‘Your grace—’

Two nimble shadows flash ahead of me. My sons throw themselves in front of Turûvin, shielding him from the royal soldiers. The guards take a step forward. The twins unsheathe their practice blades.

‘Enough!’ I bark.

Everyone shudders and looks my way. I glare at Amedee.

‘Your grace, you are a guest, but this is my valley, and only I have the authority to dispose of the life and death of my household.’

Her nostrils flare. ‘Then dispose of it!’ she bellows. ‘Lord Eltarion, in front of you, your Solvenians and the Spirits themselves, I claim that this demon attempted to kill my son. By the will of Radayamar the Almighty, I demand justice. What shall be your judgement?’

Silence descends on the chamber like a deathly shroud. I shift my eyes towards Turûvin, but the view of him is still blocked.

‘Ulysser, Ariel, step aside.’

Their look at me is defiant, their mouths a white line of rebellion. Under my heavy glance, they move away, but don’t go far, holding their blades at the ready.

‘Turûvin?’

He doesn’t move, doesn’t raise his head, as if he can’t hear me at all. Oh, what have you done, my friend, what have you done?

‘Captain Myreddin,’ I say to his second-in-command in a coarse hollow voice I hardly recognize as my own. ‘Arrest commander Turûvin and lock him in his chamber until further investigation.’

‘Investigation?’ Amedee cries.

‘I cannot sentence an elf to death without indisputable proof, your grace.’

‘Jahlwe was found in his chamber, with his blade in the chest. This is my son’s blood on his hands.’

‘And yet none of us saw him do it,’ I say, barely keeping my control. ‘Leave this matter to me, your grace, I swear to you the culprit will pay. Right now, I beg you to go to the healing wing and stay at Jahlwe’s side. There is no one I trust more.’

Her eyes widen at the thought of her son lying unconscious in the hands of unknown healers, so she rushes away.

‘Captain Myreddin,’ I repeat, ‘arrest commander Turûvin and lock him in his chamber.’

The twins give out an impertinent yelp, but I motion at the door and they drag themselves out.

I follow suit, and spend the day giving orders, tending to urgent matters, appointing investigators and guards… busying myself with anything to distract from dwelling on the possibility of losing Jahlwe.

It is only in the morning that I find enough strength to question Turûvin.

The guards unlock the door to his chamber. Hunched in a chair, staring at his hands, he stirs as I enter and straightens.

I catch a flash of movement in the corner.

‘Come out of there, boys,’ I say tiredly, sitting down opposite him.

They falter from the shadow, and stand in front of me, their faces amusingly remorseful. I have no more strength in me to be amused.

‘Leave, now.’

‘Please, Father,’ Ulysser begs, ‘they barely feed him.’

‘Uncle can’t stay alone right now,’ Ariel adds. ‘We have to protect him.’

Ulysser gives me a hard glance. ‘You don’t believe he did it, do you?’

I fidget with the rings on my fingers.

‘Go, my boys, I’ll be fine,’ Turûvin urges.

They purse their lips and one after the other slip out through the window. By the Spirits, it’s the fourth floor!

‘How is Jahlwe?’

I take my eyes off the window.

‘Seoras is doing everything he can, but… he cannot promise…’ I trail off. Finishing the sentence is like signing a verdict.

‘He will live,’ Turûvin says softly. ‘He did not come back to be with you for a day, he will—‘

‘Turûvin, I need to hear it.’

He swallows. ‘I didn’t do it. Do you believe me?’

I keep silent for a few moments. Do I have it in my heart to answer?

‘The fight you had at the training grounds, when you hit him, what was it about?’

He runs a hand over his eyes.

‘I can’t, I’m sorry, Eltarion, I can’t tell you.’ I try to protest, but he interrupts. ‘I went to the gardens to clear my head, returned to my chamber to get ready for the training practice I had promised the twins, and… there he was, lying on the floor, my dragon blade in his chest. I… was in shock, I barely remember what I was doing – I think I checked whether he was breathing and that’s when you found me. I swear, our fight has nothing to do with it.’

He pauses, waiting for my reaction, but I can’t offer him any.

‘Is she still raving for my head?’ he asks.

I nod.

‘Eltarion,’ he says after another pause. ‘You gave me everything I have, it would be only fair if you were the one to take it away. If you decide I deserve death, I will accept it.’ He reaches out for my hand, but I move away. He sighs. ‘I’m just asking you to be cautious. Whoever did this, is still out there. Have Myreddin near, she can be trusted. Tell her to put guards at your door. And the twins’ doors.’

I get up.

‘Do they really barely feed you?’ I ask, halting in the doorway.

He gives me a ghost of a smile. ‘I’ll survive.’

I leave, ordering two guards to be positioned under Turûvin’s window.

It is the end of the third day that sees me completely broken down. I find myself wandering along the dark corridors, in search of a place to rest my head.

Where can I find comfort? Who can I turn to?

My mind knows Seoras must be exhausted after having tended to Jahlwe’s wound for three days straight, unwilling to trust him to his apprentices, but my feet carry me towards his chamber on their own accord.

He sits up on his bed as I enter, his eyes, red and tired, staring at me in alarm. I hesitate in the doorway.

‘Forgive me, I forgot to knock.’

He smooths down his hair. ‘It is fine. Just give me a moment.’

I turn away while he makes himself decent.

‘How are you faring?’ he asks, coming closer and shutting the door. ‘Are you having troubles sleeping?’

‘I am.’

I walk the short distance to his bed and sit down. He gives out a tense little sound, but I am too overwhelmed to pay heed to etiquette.

‘Please, I can’t be alone right now. My bedroom is a prison, Jahlwe’s ward is Amedee’s lair and my gazebo is a freezing death pit.’

I look up for his sympathy, but only see his back, as he is rummaging through one of his potion cabinets.

‘Drink this, you will feel better.’

A drop of crimson is still dissolving in the water glass as he holds it out. It chills my throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste, but my muscles loosen and my head fills with pleasant haze. The effect of Seoras’s sleeping potion is familiar and welcome.

I close my eyes.

There is a hand on my shoulder.

‘Eltarion, I am sorry.’

I look up, blinking. Seoras’s face blurs slightly every time I move my head.

‘Don’t be. It is not your fault.’ It takes some effort to stretch my mouth into a smile. ‘I know you are doing everything you can. No matter what happens, you are my friend…’

There is a smear of movement and Seoras is out of my line of vision, but my neck is too stiff to see where he is gone. I have enough strength to tilt my body until it hits the mattress. I dive my nose into the silk and slide my hand under the pillow—

Pain pulls me out of the slumber. I sit up and stare at a red drop on my finger in stupid bewilderment.

‘Seoras, your pillow has just prickled me.’

He turns, frowning. I reach under the pillow and grab at something cold and metallic.

‘No!’

Too late. The jagged emerald pendant is blinking at me, reflecting the candlelight.

‘I… I don’t understand…’ I whisper.

The silence that follows tugs at my stomach.

‘Of course, you don’t understand.’ Seoras’s voice makes me shiver of almost physical cold. ‘In three thousand years you couldn’t understand, why would you now?’

My hand shakes as I hold out the pendant.

‘Beňoun’s—‘

‘Don’t you dare say his name!’ he snaps. ‘You are not worthy, none of you are. He was the kindest, most selfless human, and you killed him.’ His breath catches. ‘I loved him, and you burned him alive, you, animals.’

My boggled mind refuses to comprehend.

‘But you… you are my friend… you saved me… kept me sane while I was mourning Gulurgon…’

‘And by the Spirits were you a bore! Rambling on and on about how great he was, how great your love was, how unjust your fate was, all the while you had everything. Everything! A body to bury, a tomb to cry on, a houseful of elves to celebrate your heroic grief… and what did I have? A destroyed home, a splash on the floor and a magic trinket?’ He cuts himself short. ‘No, this is not true. I had my vow of vengeance.’

I have never seen him smile this way. A wide serrated line that slashes his face in two.

I try to get up, but my body is trapped in a syrupy swamp, my limbs stuck and listless.

‘Vengeance? Then why… why did you thwart me from suicide?’

‘A momentary death? What kind of vengeance would that be? No, I craved for proper suffering. I begged the Spirits to crush you, flay you, burn you alive, like you did to him. How rejoiced I was when the three of you were brought before Radayamar, and how… disillusioned. Krimgon’s punishment was mild enough; but letting you two go, unharmed and unburdened? I swore I would give you your due. I followed you from one elven kingdom to another, and each time you were a step ahead. At last I arrived in Solvein and found you crying over Gulurgon’s broken body after he'd fallen into that cavern.’

I struggle to keep my eyes open, but my eyelids grow heavier with every blink. Seoras looms over.

‘If only you knew how happy it made me to watch you cry and grieve and fall apart.’ He puts his hands on both sides of my face, cupping my cheeks. ‘Every tear you shed was honey to my heart. So much better than letting you kill yourself.’ He smiles again. ‘Besides, I knew there would come a time when the Cursed One was released, and the easiest way to get to him was through you. All I had to do was keep you focused on loving the memory, drive you mad with loneliness, and there you were, pledging for Krimgon in the face of the Spirits. I must admit, I did hope he would come back to his old ways, burn your valley to ashes and perhaps even kill you, but, despite my efforts, he turned more difficult to manipulate. So I contented myself with upsetting your lives. Making you visit Gulurgon’s tomb each year, to remind you what you lost. Returning dragon blades to Turûvin, to make sure he never forgets how many lives he took with them. Little stings like these made living by your side for three millennia worthwhile.’

Tears are streaming down my cheeks, lurking between his fingers. He pulls his hands away and wipes them at the sides of his robes.

‘Don’t you think it’s a little late for crying?’ he smirks. ‘Your tears are not going to make me spare you.’

I take a breath, and it comes out a sob.

‘I am not crying for myself, I am crying for you. You have lived with me all these years… hating me? Living in grief, so much worse than mine, and having no one to share it with? Why didn’t you tell me from the start?’

He stares, the smirk still plastered to his face.

‘What would you have done?’

‘Anything! Anything to get your forgiveness. To make amends. I would have gladly let you kill me in any way you liked, so that you could live your life a happy elf, not harbor this darkness in your heart… I am so sorry—‘

‘Stop.’

‘—I am so sorry for you, my friend—’

‘Stop it!’ he yells. ‘I am not your friend, can’t you see?’

‘Oh, but you are. A part of my family, my friend, my advisor. You helped me raise my children, they think of you as their uncle.’

‘This is the only reason I am not going to hurt them – a tad of dream rue doesn’t count. As for you three…’ he pauses suggestively.

‘So Jahlwe’s wound… it was you!’

I want to scream, but all that comes out is a moan.

He barks out a laugh. ‘Really, Eltarion, I want to say it is the sleeping potion affecting you, but truth be told, you were never quick on the draw. Of course, it was me. Without intensive treatment of ibbilica potion, Jahlwe is going to die in a few hours.’ He takes the glass from the dressing table and fills it with water. ‘Queen Amedee will see to it that the owner of the dragon blades answers for the crime.’ The lid clanks as he opens the vial with the sleeping potion. ‘And you won’t be there to stop her as, sadly, you couldn’t bear losing your lover for the second time, so you crept into my chamber while I was away, and…’ He upturns the bottle into the glass and grabs my chin.

I try to clench my teeth, shake my head, push him away—

Nothing. My body is limp and docile in his hands as he empties the glass into my throat.

‘Please,’ I rasp, gagging on the freezing squelch of my insides. ‘Spare Jahlwe… he is… not Gulur…gon… just a boy, please…’

‘Didn’t you tell me yourself Jahlwe had his disposition, affinities… even memories? If his soul is part Gulurgon, he must answer for Gulurgon’s crimes.’

‘Please…’

A hand that caresses my hair is soft and gentle.

‘I am sorry, Eltarion, I can’t hear you,’ he coos in my ear. ‘You are too tired, you need to sleep.’

I stop struggling.

My body is settled on the side and my head is rested on the pillow. I am covered with a blanket and a kiss is planted on my temple.

‘Sweet dreams, my friend.’


	21. Turûvin

There is commotion behind the door, so I sit up.

‘I am here on behalf of Lord Eltarion, to question commander Turûvin.’

Seoras? What is he doing here?

My second-in-command sounds just as puzzled. ‘In the middle of the night?’

‘The circumstances brook no delay, captain. Let me in.’

The key turns in the lock.

‘And put the shackles on him, I am a mere healer.’

Myreddin averts her eyes as she wraps cold metal around my wrists. Seoras waits for her to leave and sits next to me. My heart races at his untypically hurried, fussy movements, his face caught between a smile and a frown.

‘What is amiss?’ I ask.

He presses his palms together, entwines his fingers and places them on his lap. His knuckles are white.

‘I came to say goodbye, Turûvin.’

I stare. ‘Are you leaving?’

His smile grows more confident. ‘No, my friend, you are.’

I frown, completely perplexed. And then his frozen expression, the chill of his eyes, the icy stretch of his lips… My hands turn to fists, shackles clanking behind my back.

‘Why?’ I say through gritted teeth.

He chuckles. ‘You never cease to surprise me, commander. So much sharper than Eltarion.’

‘What have you done to him?’

Seoras stands, smoothing down his robes.

‘You don’t need to stress over him. Our friend’s suffering is over. So will be Jahlwe’s, in a few moments. And so will be yours. Amedee will be here any minute, hungry for your head.’ The polished edge of the dragon blade blinks at me as Seoras places it on the table by my side. ‘I do hope she does it with this blade,’ he says wistfully. ‘This would be a perfect ending.’

I struggle with the shackles, but they only cut my wrists.

‘Why?’ I roar.

His breath is warm against my ear, as he leans down and whispers, ‘Because a thousand years is not enough to be forgiven, Krimgon.’

A call to alert my captain dies on my lips, as I gape into those emerald eyes.

Desperate cries are heard from outside. ‘Open the door!’

Seoras turns towards the cries, and then back to me, with a smile.

‘Here it comes.’


	22. Eltarion

A knock. It tears through the haze in my head.

‘Master Seoras?’

Am I dreaming? Am I dead?

‘Master Seoras? It is me, G’illana.’

G’illana? My mind flashes a face... An orc girl. Seoras’s apprentice…

‘Master Seoras, are you there?’

More knocking.

‘Help,’ I heave. No sound comes out. My lungs refuse to even breathe. I will my body to move and it is listless, a cumbersome heap on the bed.

The knock that comes next is weak, unsure. She is about to leave.

Do something, anything.

I tense, but all I manage is to curl my fingers. Pain blossoms in my right palm, clearing my mind just enough to understand what it is.

Hand, move.

Move.

MOVE.

It does. As heavy steps trudge away from the door, my hand moves. Just a bit. Enough to tip my palm over the edge of the bed, the jagged emerald pendant slipping out and landing on the marble floor with a thud. The gem inside cracks.

I wait. For ages and ages and ages. There is no sound, until—

‘Master Seoras, are you there?’ The door creaks open. ‘Master, prince’s pulse has slowed down again. I know you said ibbilica treatment is unfit for a lacerated wound, but I… I took the liberty of consulting Sadarg’hal’s ‘Essays of Healing’ and— Ai! Lord Eltarion? What has—’


	23. Turûvin

The door bangs open, but it’s not revenge-thirsty Amedee that I see. Leaning heavily on the doorframe, it’s… Eltarion. His skin is all but green and his eyes are hooded as if in half-sleep, but his voice is resolute, when he rasps, ‘Captain, arrest advisor Seoras.’

A flicker of movement on my periphery. I snap towards Seoras as he grabs the dragon blade and plunges it into my chest. But someone is faster.

There is a flash of a shadow. A shove in my shoulder. A clank of the shackles.

A heartbeat of silence.

‘No!’ Seoras shudders a step away, madness in his face turning into horror.

‘No!’ Ulysser jumps out of his cover, arms outstretched, trying to stop what has already happened.

‘No!’ Eltarion gags on the word and drops lifelessly to the floor.

‘No!’ I buckle under the light body that is still shielding me, Ariel’s blood soaking my shirt.


	24. Eltarion

‘Unlock the door, captain.’

As Myreddin fumbles with the key, I ask, ‘Has he talked to you today?’

She shakes her head. ‘Only enquired after young lord’s healing progress, as usual.’

As usual. 

Seoras is standing by the window, his posture a rigid rod, his hands clasped behind his back. He is contemplating the wind chasing dead leaves across the terrace and doesn’t acknowledge our entrance, except by a twitch of an ear.

‘Seoras.’

Slowly, he faces us, examining each of us in turn. We look like three ghosts, I know it. Even after ten days, I cannot stomach any food, Jahlwe is barely standing, Turûvin is in the grip of darkest despair.

Seoras looks away with disinterest.

‘So,’ he says, ‘am I to suffer through a trial, or are you here to carry out the sentence?’

‘There will be no trial, Seoras,’ I say.

He holds his breath and puts on a smile. ‘The better for me.’

He takes a step towards us, but stalls when we struggle to move. I support Jahlwe as we lower to our knees, while Turûvin drops to the floor and hunches down, his nose touching the marble.

Seoras flinches. ‘What is this tomfoolery—’

I look him in the eyes. ‘We know what we did to you is beyond redemption,’ I say. ‘The suffering you inflicted on us, we deserved. Should you have more for us, we will take it. Anything you choose. But please hear us when we say that we repent. Not a day goes by without the thought of our misdeeds. So… it is your forgiveness we are here to humbly beg.’

We bow our heads. Silence rings in my ears until an icy laugh breaks it.

‘For three thousand years I have lived for revenge, and now you want to use me as the source of your forgiveness? You think I would grant you this… this freedom, let you live your lives unburdened by remorse? If you truly wanted my forgiveness, you would have let me kill you—’

Metallic clanking interrupts him as a bare dragon blade is shoved at his feet.

‘Please do it, Seoras, kill me, I beg you,’ Turûvin sobs without lifting his head.

Seoras jumps away as if from a venomous snake. ‘Take that thing away from me.’

He withdraws towards the window, his eyes fixed on the metal. When his back hits the windowsill, he turns away.

‘What the three of you did is atrocious,’ he whispers, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. ‘But… it turns out, I am not in the right to judge you.’

He closes his eyes – I know what he is seeing.

‘Ariel is healing,’ I say. ‘He is already back on his feet. You have trained G’illana well.’

Seoras runs a hand over his eyes and clears his throat.

‘You have come to ask my forgiveness and I am not giving it to you. What is to happen now?’

His long gaunt figure is hunched like a dry tree, broken by a gust of wind. How could I have been so blind, so… selfish? I blink away my tears.

‘I understand seeing us every day must be a torture, so should you choose to leave, I—‘

‘You are letting me go?’

Did he think I would keep him a prisoner?

‘You are free, Seoras. Should you choose to leave, give a word, your laboratory will be packed and sent to wherever you settle upon. However, should you choose to stay, or ever return here, know that you are welcome.’

His eyes slide over the valley rolling outside.

‘Why would I choose to return?’ he says – so softly I strain to hear. ‘I hate you.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Both Seoras and I stare at Jahlwe. ‘You don’t hate them,’ he continues, his voice cracking with the effort. ‘Perhaps you did, at the start, but the longer you lived with them, building the valley, raising the twins, healing the Solvenians, the less you thought about revenge, and the more you wanted to just… enjoy your life.’ Jahlwe pauses. Seoras opens his mouth to contradict, but, instead, turns back towards the window. ‘This must have scared you, so you found solace in making sure they never found love, but otherwise you let them be happy. Until I came. But even then, after I proved persistent enough, you would have probably tolerated our bond, had it not turned out that I was part Gulurgon. I was a danger to you, because… because it was Gulurgon who had made the emerald pendant by your request.’ Seoras’s back shudders. ‘You wanted to silence me, but it was not revenge that drove you, simply the wish to stay a part of the family you came to love. You never planned to harm Eltarion, or even Turûvin, it’s just after the pendant was found, you had no choice.’

‘Seoras, it this true?’ I ask.

His answer doesn’t come for a long time.

‘I heard king Querian was in search of a healer,’ he finally says. ‘Perhaps that is where I should be headed.’

I scramble up, ignoring the pain shooting through my knees, and rush towards the window.

‘But you want to stay,’ I say, meeting his eyes. They are swimming with tears. ‘I need you.’

‘You don’t need me, Eltarion,’ he says with a sad smile. ‘I am leaving you in the hands of an excellent healer.’ He gestures in Jahlwe’s direction. ‘And a shrewd advisor.’

‘What about a friend?’

He averts his eyes.

I touch his arm. ‘It is the Harvest Festival in two weeks… would you stay that long?’

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t deserve it.’


	25. Turûvin

The bread is stale in my mouth, and the wine is bland. The song does not ease my mind and the music does not sooth my soul.

Darkness consumes me.

I look towards my friends. Eltarion is still not touching any food, while Jahlwe is wincing at every move. Their faces are just as despondent as mine, and yet there is a difference – their shoulders are touching each other in support; Eltarion’s hand is covering Jahlwe’s, their fingers are intertwined. As they lean in for a kiss, I look away and pour myself another glass. I toss away the empty bottle, gesturing for a new one.

‘But we so wanted to do this...’

‘Well, we can’t now, not without Uncle’s help…’

I jerk my head up at the jingly voices. Ah, my only solace.

Not waiting for an invitation, the boys plop down onto the couch on both sides of me, in a whiff of litchi and wine. My heart squeezes at the sight of Ariel’s bandaged right shoulder.

‘What were you talking about, boys?’

Ulysser settles cross-legged on the couch, a bowl of litchi on his lap.

‘We had an idea to learn ‘The Springtide of Our Youth’, to surprise Father at the Harvest Festival.’ He peels a litchi and reaches it up to his brother’s mouth. ‘But now that Ariel’s not able to play, we need an extra musician.’ The younger boy leans in and mouths the offered fruit, his lips brushing against his brother’s fingers. I clear my throat. Ulysser gets down to peeling a new piece. ‘We thought you could help us, Uncle?’ 

I am thirsty. The moment the new bottle lands on the table, I pour myself a glass. Ulysser fills theirs.

‘I’m… I’m not an expert with the harp, boys.’

‘You are being humble,’ Ariel says, quirking an eyebrow. ‘Father said in the academy your skill surpassed that of any other student.’

He takes a gulp of his wine. I finish mine.

‘It was a long time ago.’

He chuckles. ‘Time to brush up.’

It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow, but Ariel only grins. His lips are bright red from the wine, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are slightly unfocused.

‘You should go to bed, my boy,’ I say, smiling despite trying to frown.

His cheeky grin widens. ‘I’m not tired at all.’

A ball of litchi pops up in front of his mouth and he dives for it, closing his eyes at the sweetness. A drop of juice rolls down Ulysser’s finger, and Ariel swipes his tongue at the skin. I reach out for the bottle.

‘So how about the song—‘ Ulysser starts, but the minstrels come out into the centre of the hall and the elflings quieten.

By the end of the third bottle, we are conclusively befuddled. The twins are pressed to me on both sides, their heads resting on my shoulders. At a particularly loud chord, Ariel shudders and sits up. He must have fallen asleep.

‘You were right, Uncle, I should have gone to bed,’ he mumbles. ‘Perhaps even a bottle ago. Ulysser,’ he gives his brother a light shove, ‘let’s go, you’ll help me undress.’

Ulysser wrinkles his nose. ‘They’ll be singing ‘The Taming of the Monster’ soon. Let’s go after that one.’

Ariel rolls his eyes. ‘You’ve heard it a million times before. And it’s such a long one. I’m tired…’

I give my head a good shake. ‘Let your brother enjoy the song, Ariel. I’ll help.’

The boy leans on me all the way to his chamber. I hold him tightly by the waist until he is seated on the bed.

First, I unfasten the clasp from the back of his head. The waves of his dark hair fall free around his face. I lean down, taking off the tunic and unbuttoning his shirt. He bears with my ministrations, obedient and quiet, his eyes half-closed, lips curled in a trace of a smile. He is warm, and my hands are ice, so I do my best not to touch his skin, but as I peel off the shirt, mindful of his injury, my fingers brush the exposed flesh. I clench my teeth at the smoothness of his body, still young, but strong and lithe. Goose bumps form at the place where I touched, and he shivers.

‘Sorry,’ I breathe.

The black eyes open. He takes my palm and presses it to his cheek. When it steals enough of his warmth, he lets go, and does the same with my other palm and his other cheek. He releases me with a smile, and I let out a shaky breath.

His tunic and shirt folded in a neat pile, I make my way to the chest in the corner. I open the lid and stare at the two piles of clothing. One of them is Ariel’s and the other…

‘These are Ulysser’s,’ I say quite dumbly.

There is a soft chuckle behind me. ‘Sometimes he stays over.’

I turn and give the wide bed a long look. My hands start to tremble as I shove the clothes into the chest.

Back to Ariel, I kneel in front of him and get hold of his right boot. A hand is placed on the top of my head and I freeze.

‘Thank you for helping me, Uncle.’ The hand travels down, smoothing my hair. ‘You are always so kind to us. So helpful. We are blessed.’

What… what is he mumbling about? I need to finish this quicker. I pull off the boot.

‘And you know us so well.’ The hand returns with another caress. ‘No one knows us like you do… we can fool even Father, but you – never…’

When I walked into this room I was shivering with cold. Now I’m sweating under the robes. I grab the second boot.

‘How do you tell us apart?’

The hand slithers down my jaw and nudges my face up, until I meet the eyes, dark and hypnotic.

‘Ulysser relies on his strength,’ I say. ‘While you… you are a flash, a shadow, a deadly wind…’

He chuckles softly. ‘And when we are not sparring?’ His thumb swipes along my cheek, distracting my thoughts. ‘How can you tell?’

‘How can one not tell? He is a kind, gentle soul, while you are… a mischievous master-mind, driving both of you into trouble.’

The murmur of his laugh races my heart, as I free myself of his touch and rid him of the boot. And then my smile fades, and I look up, squeezing his knee.

‘You shouldn’t have done it, Ariel.’ I peer into those black eyes, my voice catching at the memory of the night he took a blow for me. ‘Tell me you will never do something like this again.’

He holds my gaze.

‘We love you, Uncle.’

His hand is on my hair again. And then he leans down, his lips so close, I tense, torn between fear and hope, panic and yearning, until there is a burning sensation on my brow and I relax, melting under his tender kiss.

‘I don’t deserve it,’ I breathe.

I sit still, even after he pulls away, until my self-control is back. I lean in to undo his belt, and he sits up to let me slip off his leggings. Now he is dressed in nothing but the breeches. As I move to get up, he presses his healthy hand to my shoulder.

‘I am used to sleeping naked.’

The words punch the air out of my lungs. His eyes are trusting and childlike, they promise it is naught but a timid request, but I know there is a little demon behind the innocent flutter of those eyelashes. I fight. I clench my teeth and I clasp my fists. It’s useless. The battle was lost when I agreed to walk him to his chamber. Volunteered.

I am still begging my body to stand and leave, but my hands are already on his crotch, my shaking fingers undoing the lacing, pulling down the soft cotton. I know what I’ll see there.

‘I am sorry, your touch was so gentle.’ There is no trace of apology in his voice. ‘Would you help me?’

Help him. I must… help him. He saved my life, shielded me from a deadly blow, sacrificed himself… This is the least I can do.

By the Spirits, how much do I want to do it.

My head reels, and the wine I drank is not the cause. My palm slithers up his thigh. It curls around his hardness. He shudders and throws his head back.

I am helping him. I am merely helping him.

My fingers slide up and down. He holds his breath and exhales a purr. I close my eyes. I work my hand slowly, the breathing above a loud staccato.

I am helping him. I am helping. I am help—

Fingers under my jaw pull my face up, but, shut as my eyes are, I never see the kiss coming. It is commanding and greedy and for a moment I cease all movement, letting it consume me. I am pulled further up and now I am standing, a naked body rubbing against me, silencing my thought, comprehension, reasoning. And then there is a mouth nibbling the skin under my ear, and hands caressing my shoulders. My mind is drawing a blank, my awareness shrinking to one clear understanding: this mouth on my neck and those hands undoing the clasps of my robes are not Ariel’s. I don’t protest. I don’t dispute. I give in. I compliantly stand as the hands undress me and the mouths kiss me and the fingers stroke me. I am a harp and they are pulling at the strings.

There is a rustle, hurried and brief, and another layer of warm naked softness envelops me from behind. Trapped in a cocoon of tenderness and want, my body fails. I stagger and sway, drooping on the hands that catch me and steer me towards the bed.

I sink face down into the mattress. My brow is leaning against something warm and smooth. Ariel’s thigh. His hand is on my head, stroking along my hair in gentle soothing motions. My knees are folded under my chest. I am open and exposed. Defenseless. I know what they want to do. I want them to do it. To fill me, complete me, make me a whole elf once more. I am kissed and fondled, oiled, probed and stretched, and all I do is press harder into Ariel’s thigh and crumple the sheet in my fists. And just when I know I can take this no longer, I am breached, filled so slowly that the breath I am holding bursts out with a groan.

Everything stops. The hand on my head stops. The movement in me stops. The world stops. The silence is only broken by our forced breathing. And then a hot whisper in my ear.

‘Brother is still hurting, would you mind…?’

I take a few gulps of air. No. I don’t mind. I am glad I have another void to fill. I move my head and when my lips pry something sleek and hard, I swallow.

And then everything is moving. The hand on the back of my head is pressing down, the hardness in me is thrusting, the fingers that make their way between my legs are stroking hard. The strings of my body tighten to their limit, throbbing at every masterful pluck.

Ariel is the first to peak. He explodes into my mouth and I drink him to the last drop. As I part my lips to breathe, I snap, the release bludgeoning me to half-consciousness. There are a few more shoves into my unwinding body, and Ulysser stills, his torn moan pouring into my ears.

I lie, catching my breath, until I am cleaned and maneuvered up the bed and wrapped between two slender bodies. And for the first time in two thousand years, the moment my head touches the pillow, I sleep.


	26. Turûvin

I wake up, blinking, while it’s not yet dawn. As I move to stretch, my body sobs with pain. The memory obliges the blurred pictures of the night, launching a wave of nausea that pulls at my guts and resonates a blinding headache.

I count to ten before I dare move. I look to the right. I look to the left. I swallow a lump in my throat and sit up.

Gently untangling myself of the spidery limbs that entwine me, I slide off and move towards the exit. Halfway to the door, I bend down to pick up my clothes. A shadow flashes behind me, and as I straighten, Ulysser is already blocking my way.

‘Step aside, Ulysser,’ I beg.

‘No.’ His brow is furrowed, and his mouth is a grim line.

‘Please.’ I briefly close my eyes. ‘What I did—‘

‘You did nothing wrong.’ He draws his eyebrows even closer. ‘What Ariel and I did might be considered wrong by some… well, we care not. But you - _you_ \- did nothing wrong. We wanted this.’

My voice is nothing but a broken whisper. ‘Ulysser, I’m your uncle.’

‘No, you’re not. We chose to call you this when we were elflings, but we are children no more. We love you.’ His voice softens. ‘Don’t say you don’t deserve our love.’

I tense. He wasn’t here when I said this.

I look towards the bed. Ariel is half-sitting, propped on the pillows, nursing his right hand. His eyes, intent and focused, slide from me to Ulysser, and it is clear he is a part of the conversation, even though his mouth never opens.

‘We love you.’ Ulysser repeats, and I turn back to him. ‘We have always loved you, it’s just now this love is… different.’

I shake my head and he steps closer.

‘Turûvin…’ he whispers, and the name is so wrong, so unfitting, coming from him, it cuts a part of my soul and tosses it into oblivion.

I shudder away from his touch. ‘Let me go.’

Ulysser’s eyes snap past me towards his brother.

‘But—‘ he starts, as if in objection, then drops his head and makes way.

I leave, never looking back.


	27. Turûvin

‘The twins have complained about you, you know.’

The feather jerks in my fingers, a jagged blotch of ink sprawling across the piece of parchment. I curse and press a cloth over the spoilt roster. My hand swipes over the dark spot and now the whole side of my palm is black. I curse again and toss the darn feather away. It floats in graceful circles around my study and I wait till it flutters down to the floor.

Only then do I look up. ‘What?’

Sitting across from me, Eltarion raises an eyebrow at the mess.

‘They say you have been ignoring your evening games with them, shirking their sparring and riding practices. Master G’illana still considers Ariel unfit for fighting, but why cancel the riding, the games?’ He takes my marred hand and cleans it with his handkerchief. ‘What is amiss? Have they mistreated you? Played a prank that has gone too far?’

I swallow.

‘No, it’s... it’s nothing. Nothing. They have done nothing wrong.’

I pull my hand away, and he leans in.

‘Then why the cold shoulder?’

I can’t bring myself to look at him.

‘I have been busy. With everything that happened, the work has been hoarding and now I am catching up.’ It is not a complete lie.

Eltarion folds his arms on his chest.

‘There is no urgency in your work. Take the evening off, indulge them.’

‘I don’t have time—’

‘Then _make_ time. They miss you. They need you. They… they already lost one uncle.’

I press a palm over my eyes. There is a lump of ice dangling in my chest where my heart used to beat.

He talks more, about how the festival preparations are progressing, how his cousin won’t be joining the celebration, as, apparently, his niece dragged home some spider-poisoned boy, how Amedee and he took their first walk that did not end up with them clawing at each other’s throats, but all I hear in my mind is a gentle whisper in Ulysser’s pleading voice, ‘Turûvin…’

Finally alone in my study, I dive into work and only raise my head when supper time is announced. I contemplate skipping the meal, but, as this would only raise more questions, reconsider.

No surprise, the moment I take my place on Eltarion’s left, the tricksy little imps pop up at my side.

‘Would you come play with us tonight, Uncle?’ Their voices are whiny and loud enough for the whole table to hear.

From the corner of my eye, I can see their father’s testing glance, so I nod, and the boys’ faces light up. They jingle away, while I sit at the table, ruminating why it is I destroy everything I touch. Is this my destiny, just like Eltarion’s is to create and Gulurgon’s – to organize? I spent a thousand years shifting from hating everyone to hating myself, until my self-loathing grew so consuming, I would have taken my own life, had I not been in the Umbraworld already. When welcoming me to Solvein, Eltarion said I could start anew, but how does one shed an old sinful life? It haunts me, keeps me sleepless, tortures me in daydreams, reflects in the scared faces of the Solveinians… It was there, in the hateful eyes of Seoras, as he was wielding the dragon blade…

Where is Seoras now? Is he in Golden Wood, as he said he’d be? He took off, saying no goodbyes and taking no possessions; even the broken emerald pendant was left behind.

He’d said he didn’t deserve to live in Solvein.

And I?

Do I deserve to live here?

Do I deserve to live?

‘What are you brooding about, my friend?’

I look up into Jahlwe’s amused face.

‘Nothing.’

‘Ah, so it is nothing that is making you eat your nails instead of food all through the evening.’

I take my hand away from my mouth, surprised to see the bloodied skin around the nails.

Jahlwe chuckles. ‘Do you want me to tell them you were urgently needed for the festival inspection or some such?’

Darn mind sorcerer. Why does he have to be this sagacious, even with his magic removed?

‘I do not need your protection. I’m not afraid of them.’

‘Of course, you’re not. You’re afraid of yourself.’

‘Go to the death pit, Jahlwe.’

He laughs. And then grows serious.

‘Accepting yourself might be hard, Turûvin, but fighting what you truly are is even worse.’

I scowl at his patronizing look.

‘I am the Cursed One. Come back to me when you have to accept something graver than a hankering for Eltarion’s extremities.’

He shrinks and reddens and looks away, so I get up and trundle towards Ulysser’s chamber.

Inside it is a mirror reflection of Ariel’s, just as chaotic and cramped, despite the abundance of space. Only instead of books and animal drawings, all the surfaces are spilling over with weapons and tools. Master Eldwin says the boy is making an excellent progress with his metals.

The twins are setting the chessboard as I enter, so we get to the matter without dawdling, Ulysser in the armchair, handling the pieces, Ariel perched on the armrest, whispering his advice. We play twice, and I win both rounds. Then Ariel brings the third chair, takes out a pack of cards, and we play the skids, each of us victorious at least once. They joke and bicker, and with every game my dark mood is dispersing. It almost feels like that night never happened.

Almost.

The boys are minding their manners, doing nothing beyond the usual, but even the usual now rings with foreign undertones. I finally pay attention to how often they touch each other. In play, kicking each other’s feet under the table, tugging each other’s hair, but no less often with care, their actions habitual, almost unconscious, like pressing shoulders, brushing fingers, tucking loose hair behind each other’s ears. I used to see this as innocent brotherhood, but now I know better. My throat tenses at each of these displays of their closeness.

_‘What we did might be thought wrong by some… well, we care not…’_

I swallow and look outside the window. The shadows have grown long, so I raise to leave.

‘Let’s play Serendipity,’ Ulysser exclaims, his eyes twinkling.

I peer at him in surprise.

Serendipity is a game they invented as elflings. Excited at the new word they just learnt, and looking to use it, they came up with the rules, stupid to the point of genius: one draws a card and two others guess its value; the closest conjecture wins the card; when the cards run out, the loser is to pay a forfeit – any that the two winners wish. We would take immense joy in the game and spend hours playing it, until the boys became so good they lost interest.

The idea revives cherished memories and I find myself sliding back into the armchair.

We play the first round and Ulysser loses. I opt for a mild forfeit, but Ariel is ruthless.

‘You are to seek out Father and persuade him you are me. Then you will show him how healed my shoulder is and make him write a note to master G’illana, ordering her to reinstate my sparring practice.’

I applaud. Ariel is a mischief master.

Grinning, Ulysser puts on Ariel’s robe and arranges his hair according to his brother’s current fashion and leaves.

As we stay, waiting, Ariel gives me an account of his meeting with a new subject of his research, and I laugh, as no one save Ariel can turn a tedious encounter with a garden critter into a thrilling adventure. He springs to his feet and skips around the room to show what the bug looked like, how long its legs were and how it escaped.

‘ _‘Halt, creature,’_ I said, _‘let me study you!’_ It froze, and retracted its appendages, but as I brought it to my face for inspection and sketching, it belched a puff of foul air right into my nose and bit me on the finger.’ He extends his palm and there is, indeed, a line of dried blood on the tip of his thumb.

Smiling, I shake my head. ‘Your shoulder is still recovering, Ariel, don’t you think you should pace yourself in your scientific exploits, let alone your sparring—’

‘Ta-da!’

Ulysser marches proudly into the chamber, a piece of parchment in hand. He unrolls it to reveal Eltarion’s messy handwriting, the note exactly as Ariel instructed.

We say our praise to the elder twin and get ready for the second game. This time Ulysser and I beat Ariel, and after deliberation, we think of a challenge befitting the expert.

Ariel is to set for the kitchens and steal a rhubarb pie.

There is nothing he loves more than a rhubarb pie, but there is nothing he fears more than the wrath of Voghun, the only dwarf and the best cook of Solvein. Ariel’s eyes widen in panic, and he begs us to reconsider, but we are adamant. He hangs his head low and drags himself out of the chamber.

While Ariel is gone, Ulysser asks to show him the old trick I employed to beat Jahlwe during our sparring, and I do. He picks up quickly, albeit not without a few errors, which I point out and correct. After about fifteen attempts he performs it well enough to catch me unawares, and as he is holding me in a tight grip, pressing a knife under my jaw, Ariel bursts the door open. Red-cheeked and panting, he stands in the doorway, his arms tight around a steaming plate.

Melting rhubarb sweet and sour in our mouths, we start the third game. Ariel and I border losing, but in the end, he is one card short.

He is challenged to imitate three Solvein inhabitants of his choosing, and first he goes for the mannerly fussiness of his father, then the goofy absent-mindedness of Ephinwe, our librarian, and, finally, in the harsh tone and demon-may-care attitude, I recognize myself. He grunts and sends everyone to the death pit, and we laugh so hard, my eyes water, while Ulysser starts to snort and rhubarb comes out of his nose.

When my stomach stops hurting, I wipe out the tears and make another attempt to finish the evening. But they plead and beg and, honestly, I haven’t felt this relaxed in so long, I agree to play one last game.

I lose so badly, it hurts. By the end of the round I have not gained a single card and the boys are jumping up in their seats in vengeful glee.

I brace myself for their sentence.

‘You are to play ‘The Springtide of Our Youth’ with us at the festival,’ Ariel announces, beaming.

I gape. ‘Tomorrow?’

Ulysser shrugs. ‘We have been practicing. All we need is a little coordination.’

‘Go get your harp, Uncle.’

I wince and comply. After all, the boys have been performing their forfeits without complaint. What kind of commander am I to avoid paying my due?

My chamber is a flight of stars away. I reach it, three steps at a time, yank the key off the chain around my neck and from a secret drawer, retrieve the fur-lined case. My fingers tingle as I open it to peek inside. The golden base blinks at me, laurel leaves twirling along the soundboard, blue gems punctuating the string pins. My beauty…

I rush back, pressing the instrument to my chest.

I enter Ulysser’s chamber, locking the door to ward off curious passers-by: the twins wanted the song to be a surprise.

‘Just to warn you, boys, I have not held it for an incredibly long—‘

The case slips from my fingers and drops with a muffled thud. I make no attempt to pick it up.

I am pinned to the floor, my eyes drawn to the sight of the elflings in front of me. Fully naked they stand, holding each other’s waists, mouths joined in a lazy, unhurried kiss. Sluggishly, they part and turn their heads towards me.

‘We have decided to change your forfeit.’

They watch me with calm, shameless eyes, reaching their hands, but not moving closer. They want me to take this step. Willingly.

You spoilt little brats. Raised by three lonely elves, who loved you more than was good for your own sake, you are used to getting anything you want. And now, for some inexplicable, incomprehensible reason, you got it into your heads that you want me. So you will stop at nothing to get me.

Do I even have a say in this?

Ariel’s smile is wicked and his eyes are lustful as he lowers to his knees and takes his brother in the mouth. My mind shuts off at the sight, so it is only my body that steps towards them. Ulysser’s hands are on my face, drawing me closer, his lips covering mine in a kiss, while Ariel’s fingers are on my belt, clanking the buckle and pulling my robes apart. With Ulysser’s help, I shake my clothes off, and now I am just as bare, competing with the elder twin for the attention of his brother’s mouth. My hand is on Ariel’s head, smoothing down his hair, while the other is on Ulysser’s waist, pressing him tighter, and he readily answers, leans in, rubbing against my thigh and purring into my mouth. When the pleasure becomes overwhelming, I pull Ariel to his feet and claim his lips. They are salty and hot. My lungs burst in need of a breath, so I place my hand at the back of his head and guide him towards his brother. No sight have I witnessed more beautiful than of these two kissing. I want to see it again.

They oblige with enthusiasm, stroking each other with lips, and then with tongues. My chest gets tight at the tenderness they have for one another. They pull away and look at me, their faces pressed together, so alike and yet, to me, so strikingly different: all the healed little scars, the faint marks, the freckles, I know them all and love them to tears.

I take them each by the hand and lead them to the bed. Ulysser gives me one more kiss and lies down on his back, spreading his legs, while Ariel pours oil on my palm. I lower by the elder twin’s side, preparing him, his muscles tight and hot around my fingers. His stomach tenses at my every move, the candlelight bouncing off his varnished skin. Born in Solvein, the twins sport their caramel tan through the seasons, even the sunless winter months unable to rob them of their delicious colour. I cover Ulysser’s chest with kisses, finally circling my lips around the tempting nub of his nipple. He whimpers, raising his hips and swallowing my fingers.

Ariel presses behind me. His hand roams along my side, then disappears, and when it returns, I understand what they want to do. My breath catches.

A sleek finger enters me, caressing me inside, doing exactly what I am doing to Ulysser. I tense, but then my shaft is warmed by a gentle hand – whose I don’t even know – and my body relaxes, letting Ariel’s finger in, and then two, and perhaps even more, I stop counting after they come upon the place that makes me shudder at each stroke.

Ulysser decides he is ready, so he rolls me on top. His hand on my shaft – so it was him then – guides me towards his entrance. Propped on my elbows on either side of his face, I kiss his mouth, and chin, and cheeks, all the time burying deeper inside. Fully sheathed, I still, my head in the crook of his neck, and wait.

The mattress bends under the third body. Ariel penetrates me slowly and warily, giving me time, until his thighs press into my buttocks.

Three mouths exhale together as one.

I screw up at the ecstatic harmony of being hugged by Ulysser’s pulsating tightness and being pushed apart by Ariel’s thick hardness, all at the same time. Nothing can be more perfect. But then Ariel raises his hips and brings them down, forcing me to echo his motions inside Ulysser, and I know I was wrong, this is a thousand times better. Ariel does it again, in a wider swing, and again, and more, his every thrust propelling me deeper into his brother, tearing grunts out of my throat.

My nose is buried in Ulysser’s hair, each wheezy breath filling me with his sweet smell. Something slithers into the sleek heat between our bodies. The jerky motions tell me it’s him, stroking himself. I am on the verge of collapse, but I clench my teeth, waiting for him to peak first. He does, in a shaky moan and a squeeze of muscles. I let go and burst inside of him, and with a growl, Ariel joins us, pushing into me so hard, I lose my balance and topple over Ulysser. Scared to hurt him, I roll off, disjoining us, and they both squeak.

As I lie, panting, I hear Ulysser’s chuckles, coming in between his breaths, and then Ariel’s, as he is stretching on the other side of me. And I smile, even though I know I shouldn’t.

For a long time we lie, and none of us speaks. I look up at the canopy above the bed. I forgot Ulysser’s baldachin had the scene of ‘Serell’s Fight with the Hydra’ embroidered on it. How many times did he have it recrafted over the years?

After some fidgeting, bare feet pad across the room and I turn to see Ulysser’s appetizing buttocks, as he is standing at the table, pouring water. He returns, reaching the glass to his brother. But… none of them spoke, how did he—

By the Spirits…

‘It is true then.’

‘What is true?’ Ariel asks, his smile mischievous beyond imaginable.

They want me to know it. They are letting me in on their secret.

‘You can mind-talk to each other?’ They share a naughtiest glance. ‘Are you mind-talking now?’ They giggle.

I lean towards Ulysser’s ear and whisper. I haven’t even finished, as Ariel gasps, his face aflame.

‘I am not a scared little puppy! It is not my fault Voghun is terrifying.’

I shake my head at the implications of the news.

‘Since when?’

The three of us sit up, leaning back into the pillows.

‘We don’t remember not doing it,’ Ulysser says.

I flip my memory for the poof, and there is plenty. All the times they sat, quiet and listless after a question, or acted in unison without a word of debate, expressed opinions for each other, their constant use of ‘we’…

I run a hand through my hair. ‘And you can say anything? Through any distance?’

‘Anything – yes,’ Ulysser nods. ‘But distance? We’ve never been apart far enough to test it.’

‘Except that one time,’ Ariel reminds darkly.

I lean my head back against the headboard. ‘Oh yes, that one time…’ The one time Eltarion decided to separate them, sending Ariel to his cousin. After a month, the boy grew so sick, Qoonwe sent him back, unwilling to have the death of the elfling on his hands.

‘We couldn’t hear each other then.’

Their faces darken at the memory, and I hurry to steer them away.

‘So you are always doing it?’ And then something about their impish smiles ticks me off. ‘Wait, but then… the Serendipity game—?’

Their snigger, and I bury my face in my hands. I have been played for a fool!

I stay in their bed till morning. Partly, because they make me so happy. And partly, because I know the moment I step over the threshold, I’ll face the outside world and, inevitably, their father.

We practice ‘The Springtide of our Youth’, and we do sound good together, Ulysser playing the lute, me with the harp, and Ariel as the leading voice. Then we eat what is left of the rhubarb pie. And then we join our bodies once more. I watch Ulysser take his brother, while I pleasure Ariel with my hand. And after they climax, they sink to their knees, licking and sucking me until my release.

And then we sleep through the rest of the night, their bodies entangling me from both sides, either guarding me or making sure I don’t run.


	28. Eltarion

I can’t find Turûvin, as if he is purposely avoiding me.

The morning of the Harvest Festival started in the most pleasant way, with Jahlwe strolling into my study as I was brainstorming seating arrangements for the celebration. ‘Can I be of help?’ he asked, and smiled when I pressed a suggestive palm to his thigh. With his post-injury weakness instituting my rule in the bedroom, I gently bent him over my table, pulled up his grey robes – a match with mine – and pleasured him with my mouth until he begged to be taken. We made love and I lost myself in the scent of his hair and the warmth of his skin. Only after we finished, our raspy voices catching on the words of love, did I realize I hadn’t even thought of locking the door. We managed to get decent before a messenger arrived with three letters. One of the letters was addressed to Turûvin, and that was when my quest began.

Turûvin has been eluding me all day, but now that the sun has reached the horizon, I know where to find him. The former flame sorcerer would never miss the construction of the sacred bonfire.

As I walk to the kindling square, I glance over the preparation stages: fireworks being installed on the farther side of the pink lake; red and blue lanterns being lit all over the gardens; musicians practicing on the glade by the myslehil trees. The main square is abuzz with activity: I have to dance my way through the scurrying Solveinians, who are setting tables, delivering food, arranging flowers. And in the midst of it all is Turûvin, cursing and flapping his arms, pacing around the bonfire carcass, barking out orders, and, judging by his assistants’ faces, being a royal pain in the rear.

Jahlwe is here as well, and so are the twins, setting up the main tent. Jahlwe is concentrated and focused, doing most of the work, while my sons skip around and chatter, even more rejoiced than usual, getting in his way more than helping.

With a wave in their direction, I make my way towards the giant sheave of logs arranged on the metal platform. When I reach the sight, Turûvin is already gone. I notice him across the gardens, engaged in a discussion with his second-in-command, but by the time I get there, he disappears.

Is he doing it on purpose?

I scan the square. Here he is, by Jahlwe’s side, assisting with the tent. I run to make sure he doesn’t have time to flee.

‘Turûvin!’

He startles at my voice, looks around, as if taking notes of escape routes, and goes back to tying a thick rope around the pole.

‘Could I have a word with you?’

He keeps working without sparing me a glance.

‘I-I… this needs… the tent… I need…’ He clears his throat and doesn’t even bother finishing.

I curl my fingers around the letter in my pocket. Is he this upset with me?

‘Turûvin, I beg of you.’ I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It won’t take long.’

‘Go, Turûvin,’ Jahlwe’s strained voice comes from the other side of the tent, ‘I’ll manage.’

Turûvin’s face hardens. My hand still on his arm, I lead him to the side of the square, away from the prying looks. For some time, we stand there, studying the hems of our robes.

At last, I take a lungful of air. ‘To me the Harvest Festival has always been about family,’ I say. ‘You are my family, Turûvin, and it breaks my heart to see you suffer. Half of your grief, I can do nothing about. It is not in my power to grant you the forgiveness you are seeking… But your old life is not the only thing that is weighing on you, is it?’ He looks up from under the frown, but says nothing, so I continue as rehearsed. ‘I think I know what it is.’

His frown shoots up, his eyes widening.

‘You do?’

‘You have been my friend for as long as I remember myself. We have had our tensions, but one thing I know is that… I can trust your word. Never have you lied to me.’ I meet his gaze. My heart twists at the pain in his face. ‘I should not have doubted you when you said you had not hurt Jahlwe… I believed you, I did. The instant I stepped outside your chamber, I knew you didn’t do it, but even that momentary slip, it haunts me. You did not deserve it—‘

‘I don’t hold it against you, Eltarion, I never did,’ he breaks in, shaking his head. ‘It’s not that—‘

‘Oh, but it is. You are my friend.’ He growls at the word, grasping at the roots of his hair and I reach out to placate him. ‘I can’t bear us falling apart for what I did. I beg for your forgiveness—‘

‘I bedded the twins.’

I freeze, silence ringing in my ears. I struggle to comprehend how he could have used _bedded_ and _twins_ in the same sentence. I must be going mad… No, it must be a jest, a prank, so I stare, waiting for him to laugh, or for my sons to jump out of the bushes, or for the death pit to open and swallow me, but instead, all that happens is that Turûvin’s chin starts to tremble like a child’s and he whispers, ‘I am sorry, Eltarion, I am so sorry—‘

And the next thing I know is his face, tear-stricken and bloodied, crumbling under my fist, as I hit, and hit, and hit, while he is staggering, not even shielding himself, and then hands are grabbing me from behind and dragging me away. I struggle to free myself, until a voice breaks through the red haze that hinders my eyesight.

‘Eltarion, stop it. Eltarion!’

‘Father, no!’ My sons leap in to block my way.

I go rigid in Jahlwe’s hands, but my chest is rocking, and my fists are shaking.

‘Get out,’ I roar. ‘You, you…’ I can’t even think of a befitting curse. ‘Get out of my house, my valley – get out!’ I keep yelling, even as Jahlwe is hauling me away. I don’t see the path, don’t feel my feet moving, until I am in a room and I am finally unrestrained. I crash and wreck everything that gets in my way, growl, pound on the tabletop, and only stop when there is refreshing pain shooting through my left hand.

In dumb shock, I stare at the golden-tipped writing feather protruding from the centre of my palm.


	29. Jahlwe

I wait, trying not to get in his way, while he wreaks havoc of his study.

There is a soft tap and the door creaks open.

‘I fetched some ibbilica extract from master G’illana,’ Ulysser whispers, and adds, seeing my confusion, ‘Father tends to hurt himself when he is this upset.’

I turn at the sudden silence – Eltarion is staring blankly at his bloodied palm. The door behind me closes. I open the jar with the medicine.

Eltarion lets me settle him onto the couch, relieve him of the writing feather and treat his injury. He hisses at the pain and runs the healthy hand over his eyes.

‘How could he… how could he do this?’ he moans.

I take a generous scoop of the balm and apply it around the wound. ‘You said Turûvin had spent all this time denying himself of bodily pleasures. He wouldn’t end his self-deprecating celibacy over a one-nighter with your children.’ I take out a clean handkerchief. ‘This must be serious.’

‘They are elflings!’ He raises his voice. ‘He is their uncle!’

I refrain from rolling my eyes, instead, concentrating on bandaging his palm.

‘As I have already told Turûvin, no, they are not elflings, they are fully-grown elves, and no, he is not their—‘

‘You knew?’

I hold his gaze. ‘I saw the way he looked at them. I said if he loved them this much, he needed to act, and that was when he hit me.’

Eltarion opens and closes his mouth a few times. Then yanks his hand away. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It was hard to do with a dragon blade in my chest.’

He looks away, still fuming, but lets me take his hand back.

‘So…’ I say, tying the handkerchief into a knot, ‘you are mad at him, but not at them?’ His silence is eloquent enough. ‘How long have you known?’

He clenches his jaws.

‘I caught them once, a long time ago,’ he says, his voice barely audible. ‘A sight I would not wish on any parent. I separated them, sent Ariel to my cousin.’

‘It didn’t go well?’ I ask, stroking his fingers that are sticking out of the bandage.

‘Ariel got so sick, he nearly died. I chose to pretend it never happened. I know what it is like to lose a sibling.’

I look up from kissing the pads of his fingertips. ‘You do?’

‘I was also born with a brother. We were never this close, but his death was…’ He presses his lips. ‘Crushing.’

I reach out, cupping his cheek, and he leans into the touch.

‘I hoped,’ he says, ‘I hoped they would grow out of this.’ His head whips up to me. ‘I don’t understand, they fought over you.’

‘Perhaps in front of you,’ I snort. ‘To me they made it very clear they were open to suggestions.’

He turns away with a groan.

‘Are they waiting outside?’ he asks after a while.

I walk towards the door. When I open, the twins trudge sheepishly inside, Ariel a half-step behind his brother, and at Eltarion’s gesture, they sit down.

‘We are so sorry we upset you, Father,’ Ulysser says.

‘We are so sorry we disappointed you,’ Ariel echoes.

Eltarion fiddles with the little bow I made on his bandage.

‘If you wanted to have a bit of fun, why didn’t you choose someone else? Anyone else?’

They shift at the edges of their seats.

Ulysser looks up. ‘Because it was not just fun, Father, we love him.’

‘ _We_?’

They shrink.

‘Please don’t be cross with Turûvin,’ Ulysser says. ‘He did nothing wrong. We wanted this.’

‘Why?’ Eltarion throws his hands in the air. ‘Why in the death pit it had to be him?’

They sit very still before answering.

‘Because for him we are not just an adventure,’ Ulysser says. ‘We… we tried to change, Father, and this is beyond us. And he accepts us the way we are. He truly has enough room in his heart for us both.’

Ariel lifts his hands in a sign of prayer. ‘Please don’t cast him out.’

Eltarion lets out a careful breath. He gives me a tired look and I open the door once again.

Turûvin looks awful. His nose is raw, his left cheek is bruised and scratched where Eltarion’s rings cut him, his eye is blood-shot red and swollen. He stalls in front of the door and enters, tripping over the porch and nearly falling.

Eltarion raises to his feet and looks him up and down.

‘I am sorry about this.’ He waves grimly at Turûvin’s face.

‘Don’t be.’ Turûvin takes a step forward.

The twins are watching them, scooped like a pair of frightened sparrows, while they stand in the middle of the room, their stares bouncing from place to place. Turûvin jerks a hand towards his mouth but drops it. Eltarion brushes his robes and gives a sigh.

‘This is madness. How—‘ he starts and chokes on the words. ‘How would this even work?’ His eyes dart between the twins and Turûvin. ‘What would everyone think? What should I tell—’

The door flings open and I barely jump away.

‘This has got to stop!’

I peer at my mother, who has barged in, all flaring nostrils and frowning brows. She stomps towards Eltarion, almost knocking their noses together, leaving enough space to cross her arms on her chest.

‘Keep your household under control, Eltarion, or I will.’

He opens and closes his mouth, leaning back under her glare. ‘Your grace? What is amiss?’

‘I am tired of your folk bothering me with heroic tales of your damned misfit of a commander.’ She jabs a finger in Turûvin’s direction. ‘I understand he is now an elf of a thousand virtues and would not hurt a wraithling, but there is so much I can bear filling my mind with such hokum.’

Eltarion shoots a hunted glance at Turûvin, but Turûvin shrugs, his frown distorting his bruised face even further.

‘What stories, mother?’ I ask.

She mellows somewhat as she sees me.

‘The moment you were stricken down with the traitor’s blade, Solveinians would come in swarms begging me to reconsider my death claim, warranting he had changed his ways and could not have been the perpetrator.’

I bite my smile at Turûvin’s widening eyes. ‘What did they say?’

With a huff, mother raises her eyes ceilingward. ‘Apparently, he’s saved elves from undead beasts, dragged orc babies out of burning houses, shielded halflings during earthquakes and warded rat invasions from the library.’ She pauses to take an angry breath. ‘An elfling came to me yesterday saying commander had saved his pet rabbit from an eagle, and just now a dwarf _– a dwarf_ – forced upon me the story of how commander carried him on his back out of a collapsing mine. Preposterous!’ She narrows her eyes at Eltarion. ‘Keep your household in check. And you—‘ She swipes to Turûvin and finally notices his state. ‘What happened here?’

The answer is an awkward silence.

‘Eltarion is having a hard time accepting his sons’ choice of a mate,’ I explain.

‘Oh,’ she says, unimpressed by my use of the plural. ‘Well, what would I know about that?’ Her shoulders relax, and her mouth widens in a highly satisfied smirk. ‘There is but one thing to say, my friend,’ she continues in a sweet tone, ‘ _the right path opens for the heart that loves, and those that judge, would never see the truth; restraining feeling by dispraising eyes is living their life, not yours…_ I think there is more along the same lines, should I continue?’

Judging by the blush, creeping up Eltarion’s neck, she is throwing his own words back at him.

‘No, your grace, you have made your point,’ he says. ‘I promise my folk will not bother you anymore.’

Her head high and her back arrow-straight, mother strides towards the entrance. She turns before leaving.

‘You are lucky I am better at keeping my fists under control, Eltarion.’

He closes his eyes and drops his head. Just as my mother leaves, captain Myreddin enters.

‘Everything is ready for the celebration, my lord. Folks are waiting for your command.’

Eltarion adjusts the fur collar of his robes. ‘In a moment, captain.’

Waiting while she leaves, he swipes his eyes around the room, until they freeze at something high upon the wall. It is the painting – his father, dressed in impeccable white. They stare at each other, the painted elf and Eltarion, one pair of black eyes condemning and austere, the other – pained and confused. After a deep breath, Eltarion runs a hand over his face, ending his silent conversation with the portrait, and turns to Turûvin.

‘You know I’ll throw you into the death pit if you hurt them.’

Turûvin winces. ‘You know if I hurt them I’ll jump into the death pit myself.’

Eltarion nears the couch. The twins jump up, looking into his eyes without blinking. He puts his hands against their cheeks.

‘I was upset,’ he says softly, his voice cracking with emotion, ‘but not disappointed in you, my boys. Never.’

Trembling, they press to his sides, as he plants a kiss on each of their foreheads, and when he pulls away, timid smiles blossom on their faces.

He walks up to me and takes my hand. I give him a squeeze.

‘Will you take the twins to the square of kindling?’ he says. ‘We will join you in a moment.’ I lean in with a reassuring kiss.

Nudging their elbows, I steer the twins outside.

‘Don’t be too long,’ Ariel says, his eyes already filled with playful sparks. ‘We have prepared a surprise.’

Eltarion presses a hand to his heart. ‘No more surprises, I beg you.’

The twins’ laughter is still ringing ahead of me when I pause and look back. Eltarion and Turûvin are embracing each other. When they part, Eltarion says something that makes Turûvin’s eyes widen and his jaw slacken. It must be the news of the three letters that arrived from Golden Wood this morning. Eltarion produces a crumpled note from his pocket. Turûvin fumbles shakily with the seal, but as he swipes his eyes over the contents, he presses a fist to his mouth and crumbles. Eltarion wraps his hands around him, as he is convulsing in choking sobs.

With a light heart, I turn and walk after the twins.

I know what the message reads.

Like mine. And Eltarion’s.

_‘I forgive you.’_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fall or Forgiveness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027521) by [Fair_Feather_Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fair_Feather_Friend/pseuds/Fair_Feather_Friend)




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